Erebor, 3022: Warhammers, A Courtship Year Story 4
by summerald
Summary: Post-LOTR AU! Erebor prepares for a mid-year's day visit from Gondor's new King. But for Prince Kili and his brother King Fili, disaster strikes when a nest of old enemies is unleashed on the slopes of Erebor, and Prince Kili is target number one.
1. Chapter 1

****Welcome to story number four in my post-LOTR AU! **These tales follow the course of a single year from one Durin's Day to the next. In a nutshell, King Fili rules in Erebor, his young son Fjalar is prince-in-training, and Prince Kili is mid-way through a courtship year with his intended, the Lady Nÿr, a healer's apprentice.

While this work can stand alone, reading the prequels will probably help at this point! All feedback welcome, even if you're coming late to the story. A quick review or a PM will do! Mahal's blessing...and enjoy!** -Summer****

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Skirfir, young Lieutenant of the Erebor Guard, had never seen anything as frightening as the lightning fast, towering, ugly, many-legged thing coming at them.

But from the wide-eyed alarm on Kili's face, he was certain his prince knew exactly what it was.

"Run!" Kili pushed him to the side. They ducked under a downed tree and took off, Kili in the lead. Skirfir followed, forgetting about careful footholds as they slid recklessly down a bank into a stream.

They pounded up the narrow gulch, shot up the steep bank on the other side and hurdled over the underbrush. When Skirfir started right for the cadet camp, he felt a solid hand on his collar, swinging him left instead.

"Away! Lead them away!" Kili veered him south and sprinted ahead, his sword in his hand. Skirfir put his head down to follow, arrow in one hand, bow in the other. They charged on at a full run.

And then one was ahead of them, blocking their way with a hissing screech and a threatening array of waving limbs. Skirfir could see Kili's blade whirling, pieces of giant spider leg flying…but the damn thing had too many. The loss of one or two legs didn't slow it down.

Skirfir put the brakes on and nocked an arrow.

"Go for the eyes!" Kili yelled, jerking his sword free of pincers and swinging for the head.

Skirfir shot. The target moved far too fast for any hope of a clean hit, but he managed three more arrows. At least two caused real damage—but like its many legs, the thing had a cluster of eyes…not just two.

But it bought Kili enough time to aim for the space under a leg joint and thrust his blade deep, pull it back, and swing it around for a death blow.

"Behind you," he shouted, spurring Skirfir back into action. They headed for a rocky formation not far off.

"What the hell are they?" Skirfir shouted as he followed.

"Mirkwood spiders…" Kili called back, shouldering through leafy undergrowth. "Shouldn't be on the western slope."

Skirfir winced as a branch of leather-leaf slapped his face. "Someone's routed them?"

"Yes!"

They charged across a small clearing. Skirfir could see Kili scanning the sky as he ran.

"Raven! Need a raven!"

Two spiders emerged right behind them.

"Cave!" Skirfir called, spotting an opening in the rocks ahead. They charged full-bore up a rock face, then Skirfir felt Kili hook his jacket and pull him under an overhang. Together, they plowed to the back wall, getting as much distance from the spiders as they could get. They both stopped, heaving for breath, but spider legs reached in after them, stabbing and feinting.

Kili severed two, and Skirfir shot blindly for the body.

He was running out of arrows.

And then the spiders withdrew.

"Mahal's hell," Skirfir panted. "Three arrows...that's all I have left." Three arrows, two throwing darts and a long knife.

Kili nodded. He still had his sword, dripping with green ochre, held at the ready.

They stood still, catching their breath and listening. After a minute, Kili stepped forward, peeking out, signaling for Skirfir to stay put.

"Raven," Kili pointed up and to the right.

Cautiously, he stepped out with his arm up. "Stay there," he said to Skirfir.

The raven swooped in.

Kili didn't waste time on niceties. "Go to the prince, to King but not King…at the hunting camp by the stream." Kili pointed north with his sword. "Tell the prince…Run home now, alert the mountain. Warhammers. Got it? Make him run…get your friends…chase them home, Corax. Fast as you can."

The raven took off. Skirfir recognized the code word. It was the most dire warning a scout could give. He hoped the trainee lads could act on it.

"One more," Kili murmured, he scanned the skies for another raven, wary of the spiders returning.

The woods sounded eerily silent.

Skirfir moved up closer, arrow knocked and ready. The longer it took, the more chance the spiders would be back, and he couldn't defend his prince from back there.

Kili stepped out a little farther, needing ravens to see him.

With Skirfir at his heels, he stepped out in the clear.

There, circling sharply, Skirfir saw a very large raven pull up just in time to land on Kili's arm.

Right when the spiders pushed out from their hiding place and charged.

"No time!" Skirfir yelled, aiming and shooting.

"Go back!" Kili told him, ducking aside to speak to the large black bird. "Huq! To the King! Warhammers!"

Skirfir shot his last two arrows, then flung his bow into the face of the first spider, slowing it at least long enough for him to draw his long knife and slice through a pincer.

Mahal…! He found himself knocked aside but rolled back to his feet.

If his prince was sacrificing himself to get a warning to the mountain, he would not let him stand alone…

Kili finished his message for the raven. "Mirkwood spiders…fast, many! Go! Fly!" He literally threw the large raven into the air.

Huq took wing just ahead of the two spiders, who lunged for him, spraying spider silk into the sky.

Kili's blade whirled again, and Skirfir slashed at dark liquid eyes.

But one spider had gotten behind them, and having stopped to send warnings, they had no chance of escape.

* * *

Fjalar, eldest son of King Fili and first-year cadet, was sharpening his hunting knife. His class of thirty lads had combined with the class of (now 41) lasses for some hunting practice. But it was his team's turn to mind camp, and knife sharpening took the edge off his boredom. Besides, he wanted a perfect edge on this knife. He raised it to eye level to check.

"Hey," someone called. "Ravens!"

He looked up, seeing several dozen screaming ravens coming at them.

He stood, straining to hear.

"What are they saying?" Mieth was next to him, shading his eyes.

"Spiders…" he said, hardly believing them. Then his heart sank. They were coming from the direction his uncle had gone. "Uncle Kili!" He started forward, only to feel someone yank him back.

It was Fria, the lassie's commander. "No!" she ordered.

He froze.

"Ravenspeaker, report! Tell me exactly what they are saying!"

He'd never heard Fria speak so harshly. He complied.

"Warhammers…giant spiders…run home. They keep repeating Warhammers…" Then he felt the blood leave his face. "Alert the mountain."

Fria pushed Fjalar away, shoved Mieth after him.

"Warhammers is code!" she shouted back. "Attack in progress!"

She grabbed Broddi and Ríkald. "Go! Get the prince to his father! Fast! Don't look back."

Fjalar hesitated. "But you need a Ravenspeaker…"

Beka was beside Fria now, her face stern and eyes narrowed.

"She has one." His cousin's voice was low, dangerous. "I can understand them. You go warn the mountain."

* * *

Fjalar, Mieth, Broddi, and Ríkald sprinted like never before. They had to, in fact. An entire flock of ravens harassed them forward, screeching and swooping to urge them on.

But Mahal, he hated running from a fight. That everyone thought this is what he_ should_ be doing rankled like nothing else. _King's son_…he wished he could hide who he was, like Beka had back in the Iron Hills.

He fended off a raven and focused on running. Mahal's hammer, they were angry.

They'd been running hard for what felt like the ten thousand steps of the Mountain when they spotted Blackcoats. There, coming toward them, scouts from the Western Outpost, one of them mounted.

"Report, lad," the captain demanded.

Fjalar and his friends pulled up, telling them everything they knew.

The captain went into action. "You, with the short horse. Get this lad up to his father."

Fjalar held up his hands. "Not without Mieth and…"

The captain cut him off. "These lads'll be along. First job is to safeguard the line of succession."

The rider spurred his horse forward, reaching a hand toward Fjalar.

"But…"

The captain swiftly had him by the collar, cutting off his words. Fjalar realized this was no trainee instructor. This was a battle captain.

"No arguing, cadet," the captain's voice was a command. "We are under attack. Warhammers means direst threat. If they went for your uncle first…assume they want you next. Go!" He thrust Fjalar toward the horse.

"The longer you stay here, lad," the rider reached for him again. "The longer the rest of us are in danger, your friends included."

Fjalar made the mistake of hesitating and looking back.

The captain was on him, fist clutching Fjalar's collar tight enough to hurt. "They will kill all of us just to get you. Do you understand?"

Fjalar blinked. He recalled the slagheads all too well.

The captain growled in his ear now. "And every warrior here would willingly die to protect you, robbing Erebor of fighters. Grow up, lad. And follow your orders."

He was shoved toward the horse, and this time he was quick to catch the rider's hand and swing himself up.

Eyes cast down, he bowed his head in acquiescence. "My apologies, sir."

The captain saluted with hand on heart, his expression grim. "Ride hard," he said.

And the rider spurred the horse, taking off at a gallop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
**

Fjalar, King Fili's firstborn son, rode with his head tucked behind the Outpost rider, regret heavy in his gut.

_Loyalty, honor, and a willing heart._ Those were the precepts of the Erebor Guard and the Sons of Durin. He took his loyalty to his fellow cadets seriously…wasn't he applying that precept to his classmates and friends? He didn't like being singled out and separated from them. It felt disloyal to leave them behind and he struggled to understand his place.

But a bigger realization slowly came as they rode for the western terrace.

It was something his uncle had been trying to impart since that day he'd led Fjalar from his family quarters to the cadet dorm.

The warriors of Erebor fight for us because we fight for them. And when we face the troops, we are not friends and family. We are their King and their Princes.

Fjalar had not entirely comprehended this.

The battle captain's sharp and humiliating reprimand told him it was a bigger thing than his place among the other trainees.

He thought he could see the point now. It was like knocking away plain rock to find a gemstone.

He peeked out from behind the rider, his heart lifting to see lines of Erebor warriors in full battle gear ahead. A raven had already made it to the mountain, then. Fjalar was relieved. He saw his rider raise a hand, heard him call out.

"Make way for the Prince!"

The warriors instantly split, ranks merging to line either side of the road but staying on the march.

The rider galloped through.

Fjalar clenched his jaw. He was certain he would see his father once they stopped.

And for the first time he was thinking about what he would do and how he would act when he got there.

He wasn't a child any more. He didn't like being treated like one. So he couldn't run to his Da and expect the comfort of his father's embrace, as much as he wanted it.

Because the battle-ready dwarf he was about to see on the western terrace wouldn't be his Da.

It would be his King.

* * *

Corax the young raven had not joined the flock in the chase of King but not King back to the Mountain.

Corax had delivered his message, roused the flock, and then flown back to Raven Prince, his first friend. Raven Prince in the cave.

_Warhammers. Warhammers. Warhammers._ The word resounded in his head with every beat of his wings.

He caught a thermal and spread his feathers wide, gliding in a circle. He was certain this was the place. His sharp eyes spotted the landmarks. Nesting pine with broken branch. Place with field mice next to rocks with lizards.

But he could not see Raven Prince. No one stood with arm raised in invitation. No first friend.

_Raven Prince in the cave…_

Corax landed in the place where he'd last spoken with his friend.

_Webs. Webs-webs-webs. Big webs. Messy…catch feet._ He kept his wings high, not wanting to foul his flight feathers.

He sensed the wrongness. His eyes darted around, his beak opened to pant, his panic rising.

_Small bird…big trouble. Big trouble. Webs-webs-webs._

On the ground, a long, sharp shiny knife. A piece of leather. He beaked it, tasting the scent of Raven Prince.

But he couldn't understand the webbing. He tested a string. He darted forward, pecked, and retreated. Pecked and retreated…

More leather.

_Raven Prince?_

And then suddenly movement: _Many legs! Many legs!_

Corax leapt into air, frantic to beat wings and find the sky.

* * *

"Thank you for your help, sir," Fjalar said to the rider as the blown horse slowed to a walk and brought them up the last switchback and onto the wide, plateau of rock known as Erebor's western terrace. It was partially shaded by a massive outcropping and wide, low steps had been carved into the natural stone, making it easy even for a horse or pony to move between the levels that ascended to the fortified entry.

Sure enough, the rider directed the short horse past another rank of warriors, who were forming up to march down the slope. The horse made for the active knot of warriors around his father.

Fjalar could see him now, white-gold hair in the afternoon sun, dressed in his mithril mail and battle leathers, war scabbard on his back with sword hilts in full view.

And the look on his face was hard as stone. He stood among his captains and councilors, clearly laying out battle plans.

The rider pulled up and without a word, handed Fjalar down.

Old Dwalin glowered, his knuckle-busters wicked and deadly on his hands, but he tapped a captain to stand aside and make way. Fjalar understood this as permission to approach.

Fjalar greeted his father silently with a warrior's bow, down on one knee before the King.

"Report, cadet." Dwalin demanded.

Fjalar told everything he knew in clipped words, saying it like Lieutenant Skirfir reporting to his uncle, the Commander.

"Where's the prince now?" His father asked, meaning his Uncle Kili.

"I don't know," Fjalar shook his head. "He was south of our camp, scouting. The raven Corax flew from that area when he came to me."

"Where is Corax?"

Fjalar shook his head. "I don't know, sir. A large flock followed me until we met Blackcoats. Once I was on horseback, they left off."

His King regarded him, and Fjalar felt for the first time what strangers must feel when they faced him.

Mahal, but the King could literally radiate an intense and powerful focus when he wanted to.

Despairing that he could ever be half the king that he saw before him now, Fjalar stayed quiet and awaited orders.

"Report for duty, Ravenspeaker," the King said, tilting his head toward old Dori and one of his nephews, working on the ravenspeaking platform with a flurry of birds coming and going. "If you get word of Raven Prince, you will send to me immediately."

"Yes, sir." Fjalar nodded in acknowledgement of his orders. Ravenspeaker was by far a higher rank than Cadet. It was an honorable post and he knew it was essential help.

Then he noticed that the captains and councilors were stepping away, and he saw his King's hand, open before him. He looked up, saw his father's softer expression, took the offered hand and stood.

It was his father who pulled him into a quick embrace.

"Have a care, Fjalar," his father said quietly. "We are in a state of war. You and I cannot leave the mountain at the same time from here on. The troops must understand that the line of succession is secure. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Father." He returned the embrace. Mahal, he loved his father. He was suddenly stunned by the realization that his uncle and his father were in danger...that this battle alert was real and his uncle was missing.

When his father left off, Fjalar stood back. "Can you find him?" he asked.

"Your uncle?"

Fjalar nodded.

"Lad, story of my life." He smacked Fjalar on the arm. It was a warrior's gesture and Fjalar felt somehow more adult by it. He nodded, held his head a little higher, and stood back then, the proper etiquette for a lower rank warrior in the presence of the King, and he waited for his King to withdraw.

His father nodded and turned away, ready to confer again with his captains and councilors. But he looked over his shoulder, just for a moment, and there…a small wink, just for him. Fjalar smiled. His father would make this right.

Dismissed, he headed for the western terrace's Ravenspeaker platform, eager to report for duty.

When he reached it, Lord Dori signaled for him to raise his arm and take the next raven. It was a report from the eastern outpost. They had received the codeword and were on high alert. All clear.

Then another raven, from Dale. King Bard dispatching mounted troops. Dale on alert.

Then random ravens showing up for direction.

"Send them west," Dori said, his voice confident. "Any reports of trees moving without wind, any sign of giant spiders."

Fjalar did so.

It was during a brief respite later that he noticed a large raven on the ground, near the cliff wall, huddled against the rock, panting, beak wide, wings limp.

"Huq!" he cried in alarm, stepping down to the big bird.

"He's been like that since he flew in," Duf said. "I think that flight may have been his last."

Fjalar blinked. _No! Can't be…_

He knelt by his friend, Erebor's Raven Chief. Huq had been the one to fly to him for his confirmation…honored him, approved him.

Fjalar wanted to scoop up the bird, take him to Nÿr…find any healer who would make him well.

But he knew better. He could not abandon his post.

He lifted Huq, cradled him in the crook of his arm, stroked his neck feathers, and wished things were different. When he saw something white and thready stuck to the bird's feet, he picked it off.

Sticky, tough.

"Web, web, web," Huq panted in a low cluck. "Web…"

Fjalar crooned to him. He thought the bird was quieting, resting.

But a minute later he felt the Chief of the Erebor Ravens go limp in his arms, his feathered head slowly sinking to rest half upside-down on Fjalar's arm.

And he bit his lip, turning away so no one would see the tears rolling down his face.

* * *

_Kili was trying to swim through heat…through a red haze. He knew this place._

_Visited often._

_Every year, in fact. Every year since that first one, so long ago now._

_"Welcome back, friend. Come on in…"_

_Kili tried to twist away. He wanted none of this. This was pain…this was nightmare._

_No, he shook his head. This isn't Durin's Day…this is not your time. I will not stay here._

_A sense of laughter. A sense of glee._

_"Choice, lad, is not something given to you in this matter, just like it was not given to ME."_

_A sense of fire. A sense of wretched hate and water._

_And Kili was trying to swim through heat…through a red haze. He knew this place._

_And he had no idea how to get away._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Bruilan of the King's Advance Guard, Minas Tirith, arrived in Dale on horseback beside his friend Haleth of Rohan. It was late afternoon and they were ten days ahead of the Royal Progress' arrival in Dale, an official State Visit which included the King Elessar, the King of Rohan's sister, and the Prince of Ithilien.

"Is it my imagination, or is this place in an uproar?" Haleth asked. They had scant been allowed entry at the gate and they rode uphill to the King's Embassy through a populace that completely ignored them in lieu of dashing past in what looked like mild panic.

"It is not your imagination," Bruilan observed. "Though this is my first visit to Dale and I must say, I've no idea what passes for normal here." It was true that they wore plain travelling gear and looked rather ordinary, yet they were both used to somewhat more ceremony and welcome when on official business.

A call of "Make way!" and they swerved their mounts to the left as a long-legged horse and rider came over the top of the hill right for them.

It clattered past without salute, racing for the gate.

They looked at each other.

"Courier horse," Haleth said. "Rohan-bred."

"Going back the way we came…" Bruilan said, looking over his shoulder.

"Back to Esgaroth?" Haleth asked, though he sounded doubtful.

"To the Elven Kingdom in the Greenwood," came a new voice.

They turned to find a broad-shouldered young man standing in the street. They took him for a soldier of Dale in his long leather cloak and high-topped boots.

"Good afternoon, young sir," Bruilan said. "We are bound for the King's Embassy. Can you direct us?"

"You've found it," the man held out a hand to the large, tile roofed building on his right.

Bruilan and Haleth both looked. It was small by Minas Tirith standards, yet much richer in design and size than Haleth would have seen in Rohan.

"Our thanks," Bruilan nodded. "We are here for an audience with your King."

The young man regarded them. "You are the Advance Guard for the Royal Visit," he guessed.

Haleth nodded. "Can you direct us to the stable?"

The young man smiled. "This way," he motioned them forward and walked beside them, leading them to an outbuilding with a wide door. Once inside, the men from Gondor and Rohan dismounted and released their horses to the stablehands.

"Welcome to Dale," their guide bowed, hand on heart.

Bruilan and Haleth returned the gesture. "Can you take us to your King?" Bruilan asked.

"Lads, I am the King." He appeared to enjoy their shocked expressions. "Bard of Dale. And my apologies, but we're somewhat suddenly on alert." He motioned for the visitors to follow him across the road to the Embassy.

"My lord," Haleth sounded aggrieved. "Our apologies. We did not expect…"

King Bard only laughed. "You're not to blame," he said, leading them up stairs to guarded doors. The armed soldiers snapped to attention as he passed, leading them into a high-ceilinged, tiled foyer, richly appointed. "And let me offer the apologies. We had planned a better reception, but our day has been rather disrupted."

"Can I ask the nature of the alert?"

"Messages from the Mountain. Incursion of giant spiders from the Greenwood, out in the woods on the western slope."

Both men blinked.

Bard shrugged. "It's a first. Generally it's goblins, occasionally orcs." He shook his head. "Either one could be the real culprits behind this trouble. But…giant spiders." He walked the pair into one of his ready rooms. A sheaf of drawings lay scattered on the large table. He pushed two aside and turned one toward them.

It was an artist's rendering of five men and three dwarves with long spears confronting a wicked spider the size of a large pavilion.

"It's not an exaggeration," Bard told them. "And the dwarves of Erebor do not call alerts lightly. The King's brother is unaccounted for." He paused. "Which is disturbing news. I count the Prince a personal friend."

"Your courier is on his way to Thranduil?" Bruilan asked.

"Yes."

"Will he ride to their aid?" Haleth asked. "The rift between Thranduil and Erebor is well known."

Bard folded his arms. "Remains to be seen...but it's Dale who asks his aid. I'm the one who's called him."

* * *

Corax did not find it easy to rally the flock. His fellows were widely dispersed, the flock in complete disarray.

But he called and circled above the string of dwarf fledglings on the path below. A long line of them with Mountain Lassie, all hurrying back to the mountain.

"To me! To me!" he called. Friends joined him. "Mob, mob, mob!" More friends joined. He looked for Huq…waited for Huq. They circled.

"To me! To me!" He called. He eyed the flock he was attracting…swirling in classic muster. How many would be enough? He waited for Huq.

But the sun would be setting. It would be roosting time…resting time. And no Huq.

_Go now_ his instincts told him. _Go back to Raven Prince. Now. _

"Follow!" he cried then, changing his call.

The flock repeated the command and Corax shot south, leading the war-flock.

They flew fast, swift and strong. His eyes spotted the landmarks, the pine, the rocks with lizards.

_Raven Prince in the cave with the Many-Legs._

And this time he wasn't alone.

Corax circled his war-flock above the rocks. _Attack! Attack!_ He called. _Big big many-legs. Eye peck!_

_Yes!_ They called back. Ravens liked a good war-flock attack. His fellows were eager.

Corax screamed his battle rage and flew down, the first to land square in the opening of the dark cave, full of webbing.

For a moment, he stood there alone, crouched in nest-defense position, wings out and back. One raven, easy prey.

The Many-Legs erupted from the dark place.

And the war-flock arrowed in, flying past its flailing legs and striking beaks at a hundred shiny eyes.

_Attack! Attack!_ The flock leapt and pounced at the Many-Legs as it hissed, trying to bat ravens aside but not really able to defend itself. It backed up, retreating. The war-flock followed it, their calls echoing in the cave and Corax thrilled at their noise.

_Yes!_ He hopped into the air several times, wings up, urging the fight. _Yes, yes, yes!_ Then he looked aside.

_Web, web, web._ He darted forward. Peck and retreat. The leather scented like Raven Prince. Peck and retreat.

Two other ravens joined him. _Raven Prince. Web, web, web._ Peck and retreat. Then a few more ravens helped.

They tore at the covering, breaking the spider's work apart. And there were two Friends in the webbing. Raven Prince, yes. And another one, not a ravenspeaker. Not a Named Friend.

With his fellows, Corax made quick work of the webbing.

The Friend was waking, ruffling.

_Run, run, run,_ Corax shouted.

But the Friend was not a Ravenspeaker. He didn't understand the warning.

He could see the hand of Raven Prince, now. See his face, thready webs in his hair. But he lay still. _Asleep, asleep, asleep?_

But the Friend was awake, his hand reaching for the bright shiny long knife.

_Run, run, run!_

* * *

Skirfir woke to the loudest, most raucous raven screeching that he'd ever heard, and it grated on his nerves like nobody's business.

_Mahal…_ His head ached something fierce, worse than a morning after too much ale.

And he was tangled in something.

He forced his eyes open.

Webs.

_Du bekar!_ He swore to himself. Spider attack… It was flooding back into his dull brain. _Get up!_

He spotted his long knife on the cave floor, grabbed it, and struggled to his knees. A furious raven screeched at him, beak so wide he could see its angry red gullet.

"Yes! Yes!" He cut webs away from his legs, managed to get up on his feet.

Mahal, he'd never seen such a thing. There had to be a hundred ravens cramming the cave, and they were screaming and attacking the spider—hunkered down in the back in self-defense.

It was a frightening sight, but he didn't think that would last for long and he knew a chance when he saw it.

_Kili…The Prince!_

Skirfir saw him, unconscious on the ground, ravens pecking away at the webbing.

_No time,_ he realized, seeing the spider testing the birds with little feints. It might be blinded, but that wouldn't keep it from lunging forward.

He sheathed his knife and took his first steps, staggered, then shooed the birds out of his way. Grasping Kili's hands, Skirfir managed to lift him into a shoulder carry, catching up the Prince's sword and dragging a good portion of web behind.

The prince was big for a dwarf, but not fat. Still, he weighed several stoneweights. Skirfir could just lift him, and he grunted as he turned for the fading sunlight and half-carried, half-dragged his prince away.

Where to go was the problem. But the ravens, one in particular, seemed to have ideas. They leap-frogged to the right, and Skirfir, thank Mahal, could think clearly enough to follow the lead.

There. Another opening in the rocks, this time long, low and narrow. Ravens dropped to the ground, darted in, then darted out. It was far too small for a giant spider. It would even be a squeeze for a dwarf.

Skirfir eased his Prince to the ground, hit the dirt, and peered in. There was a short drop-off, then a hollow interior that was larger than the low opening suggested, and that was all Skirfir needed to know. He rolled Kili inside, cringed at the thump as his prince dropped the few feet to the floor, and scooted himself after.

Mahal, his head hurt.

In the fading daylight he managed to pull Kili as far back from the opening as he could—hoping he'd be out of spider reach should one come poking around.

"Kili, wake up!" Skirfir tried to rouse him, grabbing his prince's shoulder and shaking him. Patted his face. Wished he had a skunk pod.

But Mahal, there was no sign of awareness in him. Skirfir, alarmed, checked his breathing, his pulse.

Yes, his chest was rising and falling. His pulse strong.

But his skin was hot to the touch, his face flushed.

Skirfir loosened the Prince's jacket, opened his shirt collar.

And that's when he felt Kili shivering, tremors that signaled something Skirfir didn't understand.

* * *

_Kili was hot. Sweating with it._

_ "Funny that you should feel so hot while I am doomed to watery cold…"_

_Kili pulled himself inward. He wanted to hide, wanted cover._

_"Dwarf. Durin's spawn. Filth."_

_Kili was refusing to speak to it. Fire and water, fire and water._

_And he was hot. So very hot._

_"Your silence will not keep you alive, nasty skulking dwarf. We have a friend this time, joining us for the little party. Would you like to meet this friend?"_

_Kili said nothing; he was refusing to speak to it. You are nothing. You are not here.  
_

_But this resulted in anger…resulted in a sudden flare so hot it seared his face, burned his hands._

_"No!" he cried out. "No, I would not like to meet the friend!"_

_The heat vanished. _

_"Meet the friends anyway."_

_Kili stayed still. This was fear, this place._

_He heard clicking, sensed something spider-like._

_Goblin. He tried backing away. Goblin/spider/orc._

_"Impressive, isn't it? Why don't you just say hello…"_

* * *

Skirfir thought it must be close to midnight. Three ravens had stayed, and they hunkered around the little shelter with heads tucked under wings, looking like pitch black lumps in a dark grey world.

Kili's shivering had evolved to tremors, and then writhing.

Skirfir got him to sit up, and the writhing subsided back to tremors. Skirfir stayed there, arms wrapped firmly around his prince, unable to sleep.

Spider venom. He knew that was the cause of his own raging headache. But the prince was having an entirely different reaction. He had gone from fevered to something worse.

And they were trapped here, at least until sunrise.

Skirfir placed his hope in the ravens…that one of them would bring help from the Mountain.

Until then, he held Kili tight in his arms, trying to hold onto hope.

Their positions had been somewhat reversed, four years back.

He'd been an untrained lad with only his hunting bow to commend him. In the face of an overwhelming onslaught of Easterlings, anyone with at least one arm that could hold a big stick was welcome in the defense of Erebor.

He had gone with his father, Órgolvur the Smelter. Three days they fought beside each other outside the gate. On the third day, Órgolvur took a massive flail to the head.

Skirfir, exhausted and scared, had hunkered down and stayed with him, unable to think of what else to do. He couldn't leave him…not just laying out there among the dead, men and dwarves and Easterlings, all bloody and piled in twisted messes.

Skirfir clenched his eyes tight at the memory of it.

And hours later in a smoke-hazed evening, a small group of warriors combed the wreckage, heading back to the gates. A tall, dark haired archer with a steel sword had seen him there.

Had knelt beside him, blood on his face, and reached out to close Órgolvur's dead, staring eyes.

"Your father, lad?"

Skirfir only nodded.

A whispered prayer for Mahal to welcome his warrior. "He lies on Erebor stone. Mahal will take him home, now."

And with that the warrior stood and lifted Skirfir up by the arm.

"You have a bow, but you're out of arrows," he said.

Skirfir hadn't noticed.

"Come in and re-supply." The warrior had steered him away, walked him to the main road, just cleared enough for supply carts to trundle in and out. He'd boosted Skirfir and set him on the back of one as it slowly passed, hopping up after him.

They rode in numb silence all the way back to the main gate. Inside, the warrior shared a re-supply of arrows, gave him a pack of rations and a water skin, and settled him on the wall at his side with a squadron of other lads for a long night of watch, the kind where everyone took turns catching any kind of sleep they could get.

Skirfir had tried to sleep. The one time he drifted off, he'd awakened with tears on his face.

The warrior had sat beside him, and then wrapped an arm around him, just like this, soldier to soldier, in that cold, despairing night.

He didn't tell him not to cry. He told him to honor the memory of his dead.

It was then that Skirfir had vaguely understood that this warrior meant to undertake _ushmar _for him, though at the time the honor escaped him.

And it was the next morning when Skirfir heard for the first time, _"Hail, Commander. There's a message from your brother, the King." _And saw the dark-haired warrior rise to answer the summons.

Commander Kili, Prince of Erebor.

_Loyalty, honor, and willing heart_. Skirfir had always heard his father Órgolvur use those words when he spoke in reverence of the Sons of Durin, and that morning Skirfir had stared wide-eyed and swore a silent pledge to himself: from that day on, his allegiance belonged to his Lord Prince until the moment he drew his last breath.

And _Mahal..._if he had anything to do with it, it was not going to be in a little cave under a pile of rocks hiding from a damn spider, no matter what size beast it was.

But there were spiders out there. He could hear them…

* * *

_Ushmar _= guardianship (refers to the dwarven tradition of older males informally adopting fatherless underage males and undertaking the role of parent-mentor…as Thorin did for Fili and Kili, and as Kili has done for Skirfir. _Ushmar_ is generally undertaken by a warrior who witnesses or discovers the actual parent's death in battle. Kili, as prince, might have passed this duty to someone else in the case of Skirfir...but he never thought twice about it.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4  
**

Skirfir, young Lieutenant in the Prince's Guard, jolted awake in the dark and cursed himself for having fallen asleep. He reached for Kili, reassuring himself that the Prince was nearby and resting, and then lay quiet. The prince had stopped shivering; he was still.

Whether that was good or bad, Skirfir didn't know.

And then the thing that had obviously wakened him.

Spiders hissing in hoarse, spitty warnings just outside their cave. Skirfir, heart racing, peered out the narrow opening. The moon was still up, casting faint light on the world beyond.

There. Shadows. Long mincing legs, two giant spiders…no, maybe four or five. Quite active, pacing back and forth: first these two, then that one. A retreat, then one darting to the side.

_They're facing the forest,_ he realized.

He turned back to his prince. There was enough light to see that he lay huddled on his side, eyes wide open.

_Mahal._

"Kili?" he whispered.

No reaction. Kili just stared at nothing.

"My Lord, are you awake?" Skirfir shook him a bit, trying to get a reaction.

"Fire…" Kili murmured.

Skirfir looked back outside in alarm. Spiders, yes. But he smelled no smoke. Saw no red-orange glow.

He looked back at Kili.

"Laid low your warriors of old," Kili muttered, barely audible.

Oh, no. _Fever dreaming_, Skirfir realized, his gut hollow.

"Terror in the hearts...of men."

Skirfir rubbed Kili's arm, making small shushing noises. His prince's words didn't really make sense to him, but who knew what kind of nightmares haunted the Sons of Durin.

Another spider scream, and then war-cries. Skirfir turned his head sharply, straining to hear. Goblins. Unmistakable. Low hoots, shouts, battle-taunts…all coming from the forest.

Skirfir looked around the little cave. The three sleeping ravens were awake, heads up. One stood and darted out. The other two followed in silence.

Weapons. What have I got? Skirfir had spent his arrows, used his bow to tangle spider pincers. It was gone.

All he had now was his long knife, two throwing darts…and Kili's sword.

Sacrilege to think of using it…But the Prince was in no condition to wield it himself.

He heard Kili's own words echo in his head. _When it's bad odds, use anything you can get your hands on, lads… _ Skirfir was nowhere near the swordmaster that Kili was.

But he knew the basics of stab and hack: axe or sword—it didn't matter.

Skirfir got to his feet and lifted his prince's sword, testing its weight. He even twirled the blade in a quick flourish to sense its balance.

Though he'd never try that in a real fight. Only a swordmaster could do that in combat—a matter of momentum and speed and experience.

A sword-novice like him would just drop the thing.

But he could feel why his prince preferred it, kept it. Double-edged, wide tip; it had a weight and balance like he'd never felt before.

_Forged by my uncle. _Kili had said once. _ Thorin understood swordsmithing like no one else I've met since._

And then the spiders went silent.

Skirfir looked up, dread building in his gut.

And goblins roared into the clearing outside, shockingly close.

Three skidded into the little cave before Skirfir knew it, spraying him with kicked up dirt and facing him in battle crouches. One swipe with the sword, a splash of goblin blood, and it was out of his hands, landing somewhere in the dirt.

He got his throwing darts into his hand, arrowed one deep into a goblin's neck, the other into a shoulder blade.

And then they were on him, pinning his arms to his sides and heaving him around.

_Kili…!_ One of them had the prince.

Skirfir felt himself pushed left, then right, then dragged out of the little cave by his hair.

He came up with a roar, his long knife slashing, forcing the goblin that clutched him to let loose and back up.

Skirfir swung and hacked. He made contact at least five or six times. Goblins shrieked, leveling spear tips at him.

"Leave off, you stinking little dwarf!" A goblin voice.

Skirfir turned around.

"Or this one gets his filthy throat cut." A stooped goblin had Kili out of the cave and held him with a knife to his throat, gnashing his teeth and sneering.

Skirfir had no choice. He held up his hands. His long knife was stripped away, tossed aside. One of them pinned his arms again, holding him tight.

"Bit tipsy, that one," the goblins laughed at Kili, who was clearly unable to stand on his own.

"That'd be the Hidden One's doing…" Many nasty chuckles and nods of agreement. One of them spat and the mess stuck to Kili's coat.

"Don't touch him!" Skirfir stomped hard on the foot of the goblin holding him, flung himself free and shouldered away. He ducked another to run for Kili, shoving the stooped goblin aside and shielding his unsteady prince, putting their backs to the stone. "Leave him be!"

He glared at the goblins, arms out. Well over a hundred.

The odds were truly impossible.

Skirfir saw a tall, fatty goblin step in front of him. Had to look up to see its craggy glare…its elbow…its arm poised for a backhand...

And then all was dark.

* * *

Lady Nÿr, healer's apprentice, had been told yesterday that her intended, Prince Kili, was missing. Giant spiders on the western slope. No one knew the circumstances.

But Nÿr knew he wasn't home.

Logically, that only proved he was busy.

But neither had he sent her a raven, and they were both Ravenspeakers. If there was a raven to send and he could have done so, Kili would have sent one to her.

That the two general warnings had given the most serious code for alert gave her reason to fear.

But sitting in her room alone, hollow and stunned, with the annex's storm doors pulled tight and locked…she was not doing anyone any good. She had trained as a healer for years before ever meeting her intended, the prince, and that duty was what she would hold on to now.

So she was in the infirmary well before sunrise, suited up and ready to go into the field with the other trainee teams.

Until the master physician pulled her out of line.

"I would be thrown in a dungeon if I let you step foot outside this Mountain," he said, gruffly. "Your assignment will be here. And truth be told, your skills are much past search and triage duty."

Nÿr could only stare. "But, Master Andri…"

"You will report to the intake station on the Western Terrace." He walked her to a chart on the wall. "Súna is in charge. Be her second, learn how it's done. Your goal is to receive the wounded as they are brought in, get them sorted and transferred up here. Some wounded will need treatment right away, and you will do it there. Get them stabilized enough to bring up. If we are over-run with casualties, we will expand into the Great Hall on the fifth level."

He pointed to another chart, a map, showed the location of the Great Hall, then traced a line to the Western Terrace, settling his finger on the intake area. "This is your post," he showed her the wide entry just back from the fortified doors. "Secondary triage, treatment areas, morgue."

She blinked at the last one.

He lowered his voice. "In real battle conditions, many don't survive the trip back. You must keep them there—we will only have room for the living in here."

* * *

Prince Fjalar, eldest son of King Fili, cadet trainee and Ravenspeaker, reported to old Dori at the Ravenspeakers platform on the Western Terrace just before sunrise, a wooden contraption under his arm.

"What in Mahal's name have you got here, lad?" Dori asked, his fussy brows drawn and eyes critical.

"A bird box, sir." Fjalar said. "In case we get any more spent ravens. I was reading Lord Balin's _Notes on Ravenspeaking_ last night. We found a bound copy a while back in his old library."

Dori looked up, attentive now, his nephew Náriss behind him.

Fjalar forged ahead. "He mentioned boxes as treatment for over-wrought birds. This, and salted honey- water." Fjalar held up a flask, then set the box down against the inner wall, very near the place where he'd found Huq exhausted and dying the day before.

He showed the box's three hinged lids and the nesting material inside each compartment, airholes cut into the sides.

"Exhausted bird…pop him in here for some peace and quiet," Fjalar said.

Náriss leaned over to look, nodding his approval.

"And feed him a little salted honey-water…" Fjalar showed the flask and a short copper tube he'd borrowed from Nÿr. "You dip the tube into the water, seal your thumb over the end, and put a couple drops in the raven's mouth."

Dori nodded and slapped him on the back. "All right. Good thinking, lad. If it works, I'll have you build some for Ravenhill and the other lookouts. But you do know," his old eyes pinned Fjalar. "That we always lose some of them. It's just nature's course."

Fjalar nodded. But in memory of Huq, he felt like he had to do something.

"Up you go," Dori called, turning back to the work and motioning for Fjalar and Náriss to get themselves to the platform. The sky was turning from black to indigo, and the ravens would be waking up.

And they were on the wing earlier than usual this morning.

The first three ravens carried in messages that were clearly leftovers from yesterday. _Cadets on the march back to the mountain._ But Fjalar already knew they'd come in during the night.

Continued rumors of spiders on the north bank of the Forest River, near the Greenwood. Duly noted.

And as new ravens popped in, they were directed west.

And then Corax came, calling wildly in full voice as he careened in. Fjalar held up his arm and his friend clutched him so hard that it hurt even through the gauntlet.

"Dori! He's got blood on his feathers!" he called, then focused on the bird. "Tell me what you know," he urged. "Good bird. Best bird," he soothed.

Corax's eyes were as wide as Fjalar had ever seen.

"Goblins…goblins and spiders," the Raven said. "Raven Prince…Raven Prince…"

"What about Raven Prince?" Fjalar made eye contact with Dori, who signalled a Guard. The guard nodded and rushed off.

"Goooblins in the night…spiders helped." Corax bobbed his head. "Pinnacles, pinnacles…rocks with lizards."

"Pinnacles is the name of a rock formation," Náriss said. "South of where your camp was. How many goblins, Corax?"

"Many, many, many, many…Raven Prince."

And then Fjalar looked up to see his father there, sharp eyes on the raven.

"What was Raven Prince doing?" the King commanded.

Corax ducked. "Couldn't stand, couldn't stand…fever dream."

The king said nothing.

"What happened to him, Corax?" Fjalar asked.

Corax shuddered. "Didn't see. Many goblins, throw rocks. Kill Aukuk."

Fjalar looked at his father.

"Hen," his father said. "Aukuk is one of the hens."

"We Hide, hiiiiide." Corax shook himself. "Fly back now."

"Oh, Aule," they heard Dori's voice. "Mahal, lads…"

Fjalar and the King both turned to see Dori, hand on his chest, fainting backwards into his nephew's arms.

* * *

Fili had seen Dori packed off to the infirmary and then he'd saddled up. It took until noon to reach the pinnacles, and now he dismounted the Rohan-bred short horse, unsheathed his twin swords, and scanned the clearing at the base of the rock formation for signs of battle.

It was a sunny day, warm. A slight breeze blowing from the south. He could smell spider-stench, but nothing more.

That something bad had happened in this place was obvious, even if it had been hours ago. His guard spread out, covering the area. Goblins would have fled for cover at sunrise, generally avoiding daytime hours, especially on a bright day like this.

But Fili stayed alert, his eyes scanning the ground for footprints, for blood in the dirt, seeing the places where grass had been pressed flat and noting where it stood tall. No corpses.

"Over here!"

Fili strode across the clearing to join three of his captains. One of them had Kili's sword without its sheath. He noted it, but kept on.

"It's wounded, but it's not dead," they pointed deep into a wide cave. "Spider."

Inside, Fili could see lots of webbing, some of it random, some of it in clumps. He knew the kind. "Much of this has been cut," he said, looking overhead. Then he pointed to a thick mass. "And someone's in that one."

Guards at the ready, Fili stowed his swords and drew his hunting knife. He crouched down, cutting the sticky silk away to reveal a young, bruised face.

"Skirfir," he said, identifying his brother's young protégé. "Alive," he said. "Ah, he's pretty beat up." Fili sliced and cleared webbing from the young lieutenant's face.

"Skirf, lad…" He lifted him a bit, trying to see if he'd rouse.

Skirfir only curled toward him, arms wrapped around himself, eyes closed.

Fili recognized the expression on the young face. Shame and defeat. Mahal, he'd been there before.

"Where is he, lad?" Fili handed his knife off to one of the guard for cleaning, and got both arms around Skirfir, lifting his face to the breeze.

Skirfir started to talk, then grimaced. "Goblinsaround us…then…" His words slurred. He managed a tiny shake of his head. "Kili's too sick. Fever. Can't fight. I'm sorry, I…" The lad looked gutted, like he wanted to hide.

Fili pulled him into a gentle embrace, holding him in mutual despair. "Mahal, lad. You were all alone. There had to be a hundred goblins here." He knew the signs, could see them everywhere. "But there's no blood. If I read this right, they took him somewhere." He thought about that for a minute.

"We'll get a message…a demand. They'll want something. Gold, concession, whatever. It doesn't matter; I'll hand it over." He held the lad tight, silently commiserating until he felt the tension leave Skirfir's shoulders.

"Let's get you up, Skirf," Fili said to him. "I'm going to need your help to get him back."


	5. Chapter 5

****This chapter rated M for violent "roughing up" content... As always, drop a note if so inclined, even if you're coming late to the story...your feedback really helps! -Summer ****

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Kili, Prince of Erebor, woke up on cold stone in a dark, dark place.

He was not alone. He could sense that. And he was sick: hot, fevered, his head pounding in pain like a warhammer inside his skull.

Skirfir? He had a vague sense of his young friend calling him.

He shifted position. His shoulders burned…wrists hurt.

No, not just hurt. Bound. Arms stretched wide. Muscles screaming. And he was not alone. Someone else moved about with lumbering footsteps and clinking metal.

Not Skirfir. Not even a dwarf.

_Awake, are we?_

That voice from his fever dreams. Don't answer, don't answer.

_Meet Yagrat. _

Ice cold air on his chest. His coat is gone, his shirt in shreds.

_Maker of morgul poison…poisoned herself. Just like you. _

Don't talk, don't talk.

_My servants are plenty, you see. They come from under the hills and over the hills, and they walk paths unseen…_

Goblins. No surprise.

_You met her spirit last time we spoke._

Silence. Was this the goblin/spider/orc?

_Meet her now in the flessssshhhh._

Kili's eyes opened to pitch black. The other one was close…a musty odor in the dark, dark place.

_Yagrat. _

Ice-cold touch on his chest.

_Clue-finder…_

Crusty fingers tearing the remnants of his shirt away. A tongue…a hot tongue…slithered across his bare skin.

"Yaaah!" he cried out in revulsion. He tried to back up, get way. But his chains held fast…hands bound, arms stretched wide.

Silence. Stillness.

_Web-cutter…_

The ragged, bony edge of fingernails, scratching across his chest. The trails slowly bloomed into burning fire and again he pulled against the chains holding him.

Hissing, stinking breath, too close. At his ear.

"Stinging fly!" Her voice was harsh, very real, and very loud.

"What is this about?" he gasped. "What do you want?" He was ashamed to say it out loud, but he wanted to know.

_It is about you, spawn of Durin. Your life…your body…your hand on deadly weapons. Yagrat will be your guide in this endeavor._

A flood of images from inside Erebor, yet not Erebor. Kili's own hand bearing a blade and Kili himself killing dwarves. Many dwarves. His brother, his brother's children, anyone with a drop of Durin's blood.

_You can do what I cannot. You can take yourself to the gates of the mountain and enter unchecked…and then fire…death...gold._

The vision is of gold inside Erebor, but not Erebor now.

No. Stop the images. "Never!" he said aloud, straining to rise. The iron cuffs around his wrists cut into his skin, but he didn't care. He would cut his hands off before he harmed his brother.

The voice in his head was laughing. _Do not think you have a choice, dwarf…I have waited long enough! I will have my REVENGE._

The very real hands of Yagrat were on him as she leaned over, nails tracing a new path from his collarbone to his hip, and the pain in his arms was nothing to the pain of her claws on his skin.

* * *

Fjalar, elder son of King Fili, stood on the ravenspeaker's platform on the western terrace, keeping watch for incoming ravens.

"There's no more to be said." Old Dwalin led his daughter, Beka, to the platform. "You will stay here, lass. This is not a time for an untested trainee to be in the field."

Fjalar frowned. He and his new-found cousin were not exactly friends. But with Dori in the infirmary for a fragile heart condition, it was old Dwalin who stood watch over the Ravenspeakers now.

Which told Fjalar how critical the incoming information was.

And of course Beka was under the same restriction as he was: _do not leave the mountain_.

From the tone Fjalar heard in Dwalin's voice, it might even be: _do not leave my sight._

Fjalar watched as Dwalin went to the wall slates to review messages. Beka circled the ravenspeakers platform, sulking. She could speak to ravens, but her training wasn't finished. All she could do was observe, not work. The ravens didn't know her and she didn't know the protocols.

"Do you want to help?" Fjalar asked, stepping quickly down the ladder and pointing her to his bird box by the wall. "You could keep an eye on this for us."

She looked up, sullen.

Fjalar took her to the bird box, lifting the lid and letting her peek inside.

"They're overflying themselves, and it's a hot day," he said, "This is Klaak. He came in panting and couldn't lift his wings. Wouldn't leave my arm."

"Why is he in the box?" she asked.

"Your Uncle Balin's cure for over-wrought ravens. Let them rest inside a box until they calm down. Otherwise they just…die."

She looked up. "Did that happen?"

Fjalar realized she didn't know.

"Here." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a long, jet black flight feather. "I thought you might want one of these. Huq's. He came in yesterday and collapsed. I found him on the ground, right here."

Beka blinked, stunned. "He died?"

"Yes. I tried to soothe him," Fjalar looked at the feather she twirled between her fingers. "He just went limp, right in my arms. So I was reading your uncle's notes last night, and came up with this. Let me show you the salted honey-water."

Fjalar handed her the flask, explained how to use the copper tube, and let her place a few drops on Klaak's tongue.

"How often should I check him?"

Fjalar shrugged. "I don't know. He's our first patient."

"And here's your second," Náriss called. He had a large raven in his arms, panting and unable to perch.

Beka was quick to jump up and take him.

From the other side of the ravenspeaker's area, Dwalin locked eyes with Fjalar, glanced critically at what they were doing, then gave a curt nod and went back to the message board.

Fjalar suppressed a smile. It was not easy to get the Senior Ravenspeaker's approval.

Still, he missed old Dori and wondered when the elder dwarf would be back.

* * *

Young King Bard of Dale stood inside his embassy with Bruilan, the man of Gondor, and Galennis the elf, a dark-haired emissary from the woodland realm.

"Our reports are disturbing," Galennis said in his slow, purposeful voice. "An influx of goblins out of the Misty Mountains. With Galadriel gone from Lothlorien, they have become more bold."

Bard nodded.

"And," Galennis went on. "They have heard about Elessar riding circuit into the north. His coming is not a secret."

"Would Dale lend use of a courier?" Bruilan asked.

Bard nodded. "Anything to be of service."

"I would ask that we send a fast horse bearing these tidings to our lord King."

"Yes, of course." Bard gestured toward a writing desk and went to the door, calling for a courier.

He turned back to Galennis. "Any word of King Fili's brother?"

"Erebor's Prince is most likely dead." Galennis showed no emotion.

Bard stared. The elf's response, while factual, was completely lacking in both compassion for Lord Kili and in understanding that Dale counted the Prince a close friend.

No wonder relations with the Woodland Realm remained so strained.

"But," Galennis went on. "My Lord Thranduil has endeavored to open the Northern Lodge, and we will send forays into the catacombs. There is some belief that goblins may be squatting in the old caves north of the Forest River."

At the writing table, Bruilan stood and folded his missive. A knock on the door and a thin, lithe courier rider entered, his pouch ready.

Bruilan handed his missive over. "Deliver this only into the hands of the King Elessar. He is about one days' hard ride south of here; and he is following the River Running north."

* * *

When Yagrat leaned close enough with her slimy, hot tongue, Kili lunged forward, banging his head against her jaw hard enough to knock her backwards.

"Yiiiieeeee!" the creature screamed.

Kili's headache intensified, but it was worth it, he thought. Now the pain in his head truly matched the pain in his arms and the searing burns on his chest.

Except that her shriek attracted attention.

There—a light outside a barred door: banging and torch fire.

Kili blinked and saw the ugly, pale white, twisted figure of Yagrat leaping for the far wall. Goblin, he realized. Yagrat was just a goblin.

Someone held a torch high and two new goblins looked in.

"It's just that ugly little flesh-fiend female," one of them laughed.

"Whatcha got, Yagrat?" a higher-pitched voice asked.

"Dwarf!" said the first voice, full of surprise.

Kili heard a latch rattle and the barred door swing open. His gut went hollow…he was one dwarf, alone, and he knew the likely outcome. They would kill him—it was a matter of time.

And as much as he didn't want to stay chained up with Yagrat, he didn't have a good feeling about the two newcomer goblins lurching inside his cell, one upright, one hunched.

They sniggered in amusement at him. "Dwarf! Yagrat's been playing with him…."

"You got him all trussed up for fun…" The hunched one slapped Yagrat on the back, sending her into the wall with the force of it.

"Orzhak will want him for the fight ring," the other said. "Don't know why you got him here," he snickered at Yagrat. "But why should you get all the fun? You're luck's run out, Yag. He comes with us." He raised a short sword and swung toward Kili's left hand.

Instinctively, Kili pulled his fingers back as the sword struck the chain and broke it. The tension left his arms, and pain flooded in.

Kili clenched his teeth to stay quiet. He could feel the Hidden One in his head rather than hear it now. It was affronted, appalled to see its plans going awry.

You trusted goblins? Kili scoffed at it. They mess up everyone's plans…even their own.

"No!" Yagrat was on her feet, objecting. "He is for the Hidden One. I have poisons." She showed them a dirty bucket full of dark goo.

Kili blinked through his pain and shuddered. Mahal, no.

"Bah…no one's playing with that mud," the hunched one said. "Not when there's coin to be won at the fights." He rubbed his fingers together right under Yagrat's nose. "Take him out to the pit…make him walk the plank!"

"Once he's in the fight ring, we'll get some real fun out of him," the upright goblin ordered, holding the torch high.

The hunched one raised its heavy blade and chopped again, and Kili's remaining chain was cut.

_Fight them! Fight back you miserable little dwarf…_

The Hidden One's voice in his head was rousing, clearly opposed to the fight ring.

No. Because you want it, I will not. Kili steeled his will.

So Kili let himself be hauled out of the dark cell, reeling from the Hidden One's fury in his head mixing with his pain and his fever. His arms were leaden, screaming in pain, manacles and a few links of chain still dangling from his bleeding wrists.

He was pushed, grabbed by the hair, and then hit so hard across the face that he slammed against a wall.

The Hidden One was astounded at this.

_Puling dwarf! Skulking coward! On your feet! _

Kili refused. I will not do…a single _thing_…that you want.

The goblins pulled him up and shoved him forward, the heavy blade tip jabbing his shoulders to keep him moving. He felt blood from a cut just under one eye, and caught a glimpse of Yagrat trailing behind, muttering. "Keep him here, he's for the Hidden One, not the fight ring…not the fight ring."

Rough hands in Kili's hair steered him, stumbling, down a short flight of stairs and onto a narrow bridge that stretched across a wide, open crevice.

"Orzhak!" the hunched goblin called out. "Prepare the fighting ring! Open the bets on this dwarf!"

* * *

Lady Nÿr, healer trainee, was still at her post in the Aid Station well after sunset.

"Incoming!" the trainees called.

Nÿr rushed to join them.

"The King," the trainees murmured, reverence in their voices.

And Nÿr saw that it was Fili, riding in with Skirfir on the saddle behind him, slumped against his back.

The trainees did their jobs and focused on lowering the injured lad down to a stretcher.

"Couldn't you get someone else to carry him?" Nÿr looked up at her beloved's brother.

"No. I wanted to hear if he came around enough to say anything." Fili dismounted slowly, handing the reins off to a groom, and looked at Skirfir. "He's got spider bites; three at least. Bit beat up. Knock on the head, there." The trainees nodded and took up the stretcher, rushing Skirfir's limp form to the treatment area.

Nÿr faced her King. "What happened? Just tell me..."

Fili stripped off his riding gloves. He looked exhausted, but Nÿr didn't back off.

"We rode to the pinnacles, but the place was empty when we got there…one dying spider and Skirf here, all wrapped up for dinner." He stopped and looked her in the eye, his expression bleak. "He put up a fight, but that hit on the head means he didn't see what happened. All the signs say they took Kili into the forest."

"Who?"

"Goblins."

"Did you track them? Into the forest?"

"For a ways. But the trails weave around and cross each other. That's a sure way to get lost for weeks," he held up a hand to stop her objections. "Which will not do Kili any good."

They looked at each other. Fili reached out and slowly pulled her close. "Two teams from the western outpost went in with six mounted militia from Dale. They have Máuriss with them. He can send ravens…"

Nÿr felt Fili's dejection in his posture, but she couldn't process his words. "What next?"

Fili held her tight. "I get a message with demands…or we get word some other way."

When she looked up, he did not meet her eyes. His face was smouldering anger set in stone.

"Lady Nÿr," the trainees called. "He's ready for exam."

She let go of her beloved's brother, of her King.

"_Mahal_," she heard one of the trainees swear. "Do you see the size of this spider bite…?"

Nÿr, healer, turned to her patient and her duty to Erebor.

* * *

Kili could see an entire crowd of goblins now. They swarmed out of hiding holes, crowding rope bridges, eager to see the spectacle of a dwarf in their fight ring. Their cavern was nothing so grand as the goblin king's haunts in the Misty Mountains, but it was a goblin cavern, ratty and cluttered, nonetheless.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" He heard the chant starting across the cavern, taken up quickly, echoing and growing in volume.

"Do you hear that, dwarf?" The hunched one put its blade to Kili's throat and pulled his head back by the hair. "You're on your way to walk the plank. And then…" He wheezed with glee. "Into the ring."

They hustled him to the mid-point on the bridge over the chasm, and the hunched goblin kept him standing upright as the bizarre, raucous call and shout of wagering erupted around him. Someone was at his feet, binding something around his ankles, ropes and springs attached.

The chant started to change.

"Walk the plank! Walk the plank! Walk the plank!"

Kili looked down. He could see over the side of the little bridge. Nothing but black below them.

The voice in his head, Yagrat's Hidden One, remained silent in its confusion.

Kili felt its fear: plans gone wrong, intentions highjacked.

They will push me over the edge into their fight ring, he realized. He had no idea what he'd find there, couldn't think it through.

And his fever burned so hot that it robbed him of strength and his vision blurred. He was back to swimming through a red haze…and he knew there was little hope.

Then a strange calm. He'd felt this before many times over the long years.

Yes. Just take me. Let it end. Silence this beast…and this time: it was the surest way to stop the Hidden One's vision of him with a blade, killing dwarves inside Erebor.

To Kili, it was like that time on the mountain not so many years ago…so ready to jump, so ready to end the agony…and then Fili's voice on the wind.

But this time he would hear no loving brother, there would be no loyal Fee to pull him back.

There were only goblins in the cavern around him and the angry presence of the Hidden One in his head.

"Walk the plank, walk the plank, walk the plank!"

The hunched goblin spat on him, then bumped him forward, one hand still clutching his hair. Kili saw Yagrat, groveling at his feet, reaching for his boot.

"Fight back," she begged, whimpering. "Fight back…don't let them throw you…"

He ignored her. It didn't matter. For a quick moment, Kili saw his brother's face, saw his beloved Nÿr…followed by the thought that they would both be so much better off without ever seeing the Hidden One forcing him to kill dwarves inside Erebor...

And the Hidden One seemed stunned, as if unable to comprehend any of this.

Kili didn't wait.

He glowered at his tormentors. Looked down, and let himself fall into darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Kili, Prince of Erebor and captive of an errant band of goblins, was free-falling into the dark.

He wasn't falling alone. His jump had dragged Yagrat the she-goblin and the hunched male goblin off the bridge with him, and they were along for the ride.

But moments into the fall, something tightened, biting and hard, around his ankles. It pulled him sharply back, while Yagrat and the male goblin fell past.

Kili's world went nauseatingly sideways, twisting and spinning. He had a sense of up and then down, until he simply hung inverted, suspended by his feet, swinging in a slow arc.

_Mahal's hell…?_

Blood rushed to his head, the fiercely pounding pain making it even harder to understand his upended, fever-ridden world. He wanted to retch, but not even his stomach could orient itself and comply.

Then firelight. Torches fell toward him, then past. They landed below, outlining a wide, round dirt patch some twenty feet below him.

There. The crumpled form of Yagrat lay still. The other goblin, injured and struggling to get up, was not far from her.

This was the goblins' fight ring, Kili realized: the wide circle of dirt below him. He could just make out dark edges, realizing it was the levelled-off tip of a thick pinnacle surrounded by the chasm. He understood the basics now. Fight inside the flat circle and live, stray outside the circle and fall to your death. How far, he couldn't tell.

Shouts and cat-calls rose from goblins on bridges and ledges around the cavern.

And then a new Goblin on a rope lift descended toward him until their faces were on a level: his, upside down; the goblin, right side up.

They regarded each other. Goblin faces, Kili reflected, were even uglier from this angle.

Then the goblin, a white paint stripe on his shirt, looked up and made an arm movement.

Kili felt a vibration in his ankles and the tension on the rope released.

He fell without enough time to twist around and land on his feet, even if he hadn't been disoriented and fever-ridden.

He landed hard on his left shoulder, crumpling to the ground, the breath knocked out of him in an _ooof_. The odd, spring-enhanced rope fell around him like a snake.

Stunned, he lay there a moment trying to breathe. The Hidden One in his head stayed silent.

The goblin with the white paint stripe landed next to him. It disengaged from its rope and bent over Kili's feet, releasing the left ankle but leaving his right ankle bound tight. Then it dragged the opposite end of the rope to the center of the fight ring and clamped the rope fast to a stake, locking it in place.

It stomped back and looked Kili in the eye.

"In case you have any more ideas about jumping…" It shook its head at him. "The dropoff is two hundred feet, straight down on all sides." It made a circle motion with its claw and wheezed a laugh, then put its foot on the rope lift, grabbed hold, and was lifted away.

Kili managed to push himself into a sitting position.

What the hell…? He thought. They wanted sport from watching him fight, he understood that. But he was hampered by the rope tied to his foot and the injuries sustained from his turn in Yagrat's little torture chamber. Shirtless, he would be prone to more damage in a fight. At least he could feel his arms again, even if the iron manacles still weighed on his wrists.

He looked at the rope tied to his ankle, figuring he had about 40 feet of play…in a circle roughly 50 feet from the center.

It was all kinds of bad…kept him from jumping over the side: an obvious way to end the fight; but it also meant opponents could grab the rope and just reel him in.

And the hunched goblin still has its short sword. It was injured from the fall but managing to stand with its weight on only one leg.

High overhead, the watching rabble took up the fight chant again.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" It echoed in the vast cavern.

Kili struggled to his feet. He could stand on both legs, but he could also feel himself swaying.

_Yesss_, the hidden one's voice hissed in his head. _Get up and fight._

Or I can let the goblin kill me, Kili countered.

Hidden One was taken aback. It couldn't understand self-sacrifice.

But Kili did. He sank to the ground, sitting on his feet, knees spread.

He leaned his head back, arms limp at his sides, offering his throat as an easy target.

Just take me.

From somewhere above, a short sword fell to the dirt ten feet away.

He ignored it.

_Get up!_ The Hidden One roared in his head. _You will fight!_

"No," Kili said aloud, shaking his head. "I will not."

Across the ring, Yagrat stirred.

Kili understood now that the Hidden One compelled the scrawny she-goblin as much as it tried to compel him. Morgul poison…something about the two of them having morgul poison in their blood made them open to the Hidden One. They two could hear him, while all the others could not.

_You will fight…you will rise and follow the example of your doomed Uncle._

Uncle…? What would you know of my uncle.

_I was freshly fallen. But I could seeeeee him. I could see Thorin Oakenshield through his sickness, just like I see you through your morgul curse…_

Kili's mind went blank. Who _was_ this…?

_I watched him try._

Images of Thorin, wounded. Bolg, bearing down.

No. Do not show me this. I was there. I saw it happen.

_I watched, dwarf. Watched him try to defy me, and watched him fail. It was me. I crippled his sword arm, I let Bolg win. _

Kili's eyes were wide open but unseeing in the real world, his head filled with the vision of Thorin Oakenshield bleeding and mortally wounded in that fight on Ravenhill.

_Just as I will let you win._ A new vision: Kili as King in Erebor, a mighty ally at his side._  
_

"No..." he said aloud.

Though no one heard.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Corax, raven of Erebor, remained near the northern bank of the Forest River. He had tracked Raven Prince, his first friend, to the place where goblins had taken him below ground.

So now he waited. Dwarves with blades and arrows. That's who he wanted.

So he flew a cross pattern, following the trails used by travelers, waiting for a chance.

And by mid-morning, his luck paid off.

One Eye, the red haired dwarf with the eye patch, rode horseback with other dwarves and several Dale men.

He strafed One Eye, got his attention, and then landed on One Eye's arm. _Help raven prince. I can show you, I can show you,_ Corax told One Eye.

One Eye agreed. "Lead on, young Corax."

So Corax flew, careful to be sure they followed.

And he brought them to the cliff face in the forest overgrown with vines. Behind the vines…the open gash that led underground.

_In, in, in, in._

But the dwarves and the horses stopped.

"What's in there, Corax?" One Eye asked.

_Raven Prince…Raven Prince._

"Would you go in?" One Eye asked. "Would you look? Come back and tell me if Raven Prince is alive or dead?"

Corax cowered. Shook. Fly underground? Not usually. _Can't see sky._

"For Raven Prince…would you look?"

_Raven Prince…first friend…_

"Go. Do it for Hen-hen," One Eye said softly.

_Mates for life,_ Corax understood. _Raven Prince and Hen-hen._

He leapt into the air. _Raven Prince, Raven Prince. Fly underground. Be like bat._

_Noise, noise, noise._

Corax followed the sound…twisty cave. He stayed high above the floor.

Then he was soaring inside a cavern lit by fire on sticks. _Goblinsssss, goblins everywhere…they screech like common crows._

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Corax looked down.

_There is blood._

_There is Raven Prince._

* * *

Fjalar, Prince of Erebor, held his arm steady for the incoming raven.

"Message from One Eye," he said to Náriss. Dwalin had been called to council. Náriss acted as senior ravenspeaker now.

The sleek little hen panted a moment, then stood tall.

_From Corax and One Eye. Ravenword…ravenword…ravenword._

"Good bird," Fjalar said, barely able to contain himself. "Beka!" he called.

His young cousin popped up, eyes wide.

"To my father! High priority! Code: Ravenword."

Beka dashed away.

Ravenword. His uncle was found, and he was alive.

Fjalar thanked the little hen, told her how remarkable she was, and admired her as she preened. Then as if satisfied that she was done, she turned, suddenly interested in the rocky ledge full of nuts and freshly cut meat, placed there to help the ravens replenish.

Half an hour later, his father stood on the ravenspeakers platform beside him.

"There," his father said, pointing to a raven coming in from the west. He raised his arm, taking the raven himself.

While Fjalar had seen his father ravenspeak all his life, he'd never watched him with a ravenspeaker's eye before. His father didn't as much talk to them, Fjalar realized, as he _communed_ with them. He had Corax on his arm, and the young raven calmed instantly, falling into a quiet, intimate conversation that went on for some time. And then Corax simply alighted, as if he were a weightless being of air and shadow.

Fjalar looked at his father, noticing for the first time the circles under his eyes and the sadness in his face.

"What did he say?" Fjalar ventured. He took a step closer, suddenly wanting to comfort his father but finding that an odd turnabout in their relationship. It was a revelation that his father…the King, no less…could be sad and unhappy.

His father's arm came out to rest on Fjalar's shoulders.

"Corax says they found him…but he needs help." His father looked west, his profile still as stone. "The goblins have him in a fight ring."

Fjalar had heard rumors of such things. But to think they were _real_…

"Mahal…" he said. Then he swallowed. "Uncle Kili's tough. He can fight his way out."

But his father wasn't comforted. "Maybe. He's sick, Fjalar. Spider poison…and I'm not sure he's trying."

Fjalar blinked. "What do you mean?"

His father finally turned to look at him with great sorrow in his eyes. "It's like Huq," he said. "Who overflew himself for the good of the flock."

"I don't understand."

Fjalar felt his father pull him closer. "Sometimes one raven confronts the predator and sacrifices itself for the good of the young."

"But Corax said he is alive," Fjalar said. He'd heard Corax say that.

His father nodded. "At the time that he saw him, Corax believed so. Yes."

* * *

Lady Nÿr, healer trainee and Daughter of Durin, had a skunk pod in her hand as she went to the third bed in the main infirmary ward.

She didn't need it. The young Lieutenant, Skirfir, was lying awake, staring at the ceiling.

Nÿr slipped the skunk pod into the coat of her healer's jacket.

"I'm sorry, Skirfir. The King has called for a council. He requests your presence."

Skirfir sat halfway up on his own, and Nÿr helped him the rest of the way. "I don't know what I can tell him," Skirfir mumbled.

"Are you well enough to go?"

Skirfir looked her in the eye, a good rendition of the Durin glower on his face.

"Try to stop me."

Nÿr had no intention of doing so. In fact, she insisted on accompanying him. No one would question her presence, Nÿr decided. She intended to stay and hear the discussion.

They presented themselves to the King's Stewards, and aware that the Lieutenant was recovering from spider poison, they brought a cushioned bench and placed it for Skirfir to sit. Nÿr settled on a small stool behind him, fingers finding the skunk pod in her pocket, just in case the lad started looking light headed and needed reviving.

She noticed that Fili glanced at her, but he said nothing. Nÿr silently thanked him for ignoring her. If he wasn't bothered, the others wouldn't question her right to be there.

"This is Lieutenant Skirfir, archer and cadet trainer," Fili stated to the Council. "He was with my brother two days ago on the western slope, just south of the trainee camp."

The councilors nodded, some craning around to look at him. Lord Gloin stood and made a slight head nod with hand on heart.

"Can you just tell us, lad, what exactly happened; the facts only," Lord Gloin said.

Skirfir nodded. He began, in Guard report fashion, to tell of the trainee hunting exercises, of he and Kili scouting, and of the sudden eruption of spiders.

The Councilors listened, nodded, and some made notes, but no one interrupted.

"Spider screeches woke me up," Skirfir paused in his telling and looked down. "I apologize for having fallen asleep on watch."

He faltered there. That was an offense of Guard protocol.

"You were wounded and keeping watch alone," Fili said. "I think we can agree that you were not intentionally remiss."

Skirfir nodded once. He swallowed hard, then continued. "I thought the Prince was awake. His eyes were open. But when I asked him questions, nothing he said made sense. I think he was fevered and just mumbling in his sleep."

Fili's eyes fixed on Skirfir, his brows drawn. "Do you remember what he said?"

Skirfir nodded. "I memorized it exactly, in case it was code. He said, _Laid low your warriors of old; __Terror in the hearts of men._"

Dwalin looked suddenly alert. "Now those are words I've heard before, lads."

Gloin nodded, eyes wide. "Aye…"

Bofur tilted his head. "What? Some message code we miners aren't privy to?"

Fili was frowning, clearly the words were unfamiliar to him as well.

Dwalin shook his head. "You two," he pointed to Bofur and Fili. "Weren't there."

Gloin looked sharply at Dwalin. "And neither was Kili."

Dwalin and Gloin were nodding. At the end of the table, Bombur's expression was sad.

"Cut to the chase, lads," Fili demanded.

It was Bombur who spoke up.

"Smaug."

Dwalin nodded. "Those are Smaug's words. From the time Bilbo and Thorin tangled with him here inside this very mountain."

Fili shook his head. "But we stayed behind in Laketown. We never heard the dragon."

Dwalin nodded again.

Bofur leaned back. "_The Tale of the Witches Warg_, all over again. Only this time it's a dragon?"

Nÿr frowned. _The Tale of the Witches Warg_ was a well-known scary story used for telling around campfires. The warg, thought to be dead, haunted the slayer's dreams every full moon.

Fili looked away, considering the information. "That dragon lies dead under old lake town. I was there. I saw it fall."

"My brother always said that kind of story is meant to be a warning," Dwalin said. "And generally holds an element of truth."

"So the dragon's spirit is haunting my brother?" Fili looked skeptical. "He wasn't even the dragon slayer…Bard was. The dragon should be haunting the King of Dale." Fili crossed his arms and paced.

"Ah, but Thorin was the enemy he was striking back at," Bofur said. "Thorin routed him out of his mountain."

Gloin faced Fili. "What really did happen that night? With you three and my brother, I mean, back in Laketown."

Bofur looked at Fili, then took up the story. "We were hunkered down at Bard's. Kili was dreadful ill. Like to die, I thought. I myself scoured that rickety old town for kingsfoil because your brother Oin called for it. Had to steal it from a pig, in fact." He nodded.

"Kili would have died but for that kingsfoil," Fili said. "The elf healed him, and that's when the dragon erupted out of the Mountain…"

Bofur nodded. "It was Bard who'd hidden away a black arrow…and the elf lady helped him shoot it. But the town was destroyed. Flat out obliterated. Fire everywhere. We barely got away—Kili could hardly walk. We had one boat, took him and Bard's children… and made it to shore, smoke so thick we couldn't see, mind you."

Fili nodded. "That dragon fell right into the heart of Laketown, sank like a stone…steam and stench everywhere. And even then it was another day before Kili's fever was really gone."

Nÿr couldn't help herself. She stood and faced her beloved's brother. "And what happens every year since then?" she asked Fili. "When the morgul fever returns? That last time, when the fever spiked on Durin's Day after sunset…you distracted me…sent me off. But you stayed with him. Why?"

Nÿr regretted her words almost immediately. Fili could order her out of the chamber for an outburst like that.

But he did not. Instead, he looked down at his hands. "I always stay with him on Durin's Day after sunset…it's horrible, what the fever does to him. He dreams and it's as if…" Then Fili looked up, sudden understanding changing his expression. "As if someone's tormenting him."

Bombur nodded. "Smaug."

Dwalin's eyes were wide. "And the two of you never heard how that dragon taunted poor Bilbo…how Thorin took him on…so how would you recognize the dragon's words in a fever dream?"

Fili ran a hand across his forehead. "Mahal, this is a sketchy theory, lads. A fairy tale. You think I should believe…"

A knock on the chamber door interrupted his line of thought and a royal guard entered and bowed.

"My lord, there are visitors at the gate demanding an audience. Three men, one elf, and a dwarf: Lord Gimli, King Bard…three others."

Everyone looked to Fili for an answer.

* * *

A rag tag crew of dusty travelers had arrived at Erebor's main gate just before sunset. Finding the Mountain on high alert and the gate on lockdown, they now stood together at ease, awaiting a reply to their request for an audience with Erebor's King.

"It would be unprecedented for them to allow us inside Erebor at all," Gimli said as they waited. "I would tread carefully if they open the gate."

"They let you and I in not two months ago," Legolas pointed out.

"Aye." Gimli looked critically at the guards. "But they are on high alert tonight and this is not a social call. The very mountain will have its eyes on us."

King Bard nodded. "The people of Dale sheltered inside the Great Hall during the siege," he said. "I'd always heard that the mountain itself held a strong magic. Having been inside, I can tell you it is true."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows in mild amusement. "All dwarf strongholds are marked by Aule's magic. Dwarves are powerful spell casters when needs be."

"Let me warn you that Erebor is alive with it," Bard said. "The mountain is attuned to the King's moods."

"It is said that Lord Kili never leaves," Bruilan said. "Is that true? Is that why they're so upset about his disappearance?"

"He visits Dale. I count him a close friend, in fact," Bard said. "But it's true that he does not leave Erebor's lands."

Bard and Legolas exchanged looks. "Few know the full tale," Legolas murmured.

"It's a state secret, in fact," Bard said.

"A matter of state?" Aragorn asked. "I am intrigued."

"We will see if they will share it," Legolas frowned. "Gandalf always advised silence on the matter, and he demanded oaths from us about it."

Aragorn raised both eyebrows. "You are more cryptic by the moment, my friend."

"Kili is the King's only brother?" Bruilan asked.

"Yes," Bard nodded. "They are quite close and fiercely protective of each other, so watch your step," he advised. "And never assume the King isn't armed to the teeth. I've seen him throw a knife and split an orc skull from a hundred feet off. He's generally got no fewer than a dozen blades hidden in his coat."

"That's true," Legolas smiled widely as if recalling something amusing. "The Mirkwood Guard tried to disarm him once," he laughed softly. "To this day, I don't believe they were fully successful."

And then they saw action at the gate. A latch clanged, a door opened, and the watch commander with an escort of thirty dwarves accompanied a well-dressed Councilor out to meet them.

"Father!" Gimli cried, arms out. He stepped forward to embrace the other dwarf.

"Welcome, my lad." Lord Gloin patted his son's back, but he looked on the men and the elf with a stern eye. "I take it you can vouch for these friends of yours…?"

* * *

Aragorn had once walked the halls of Moria, seen the high vaulted ceilings by firelight, traversed the distance from the western gate to the Dimrill Dale.

But seeing Moria in its dilapidated, goblin-infested state did nothing to prepare him for the grandeur of Erebor: all massive green stone veined in mithril, the vast interior lit by golden light from oil lamps and the open flames of wrought braziers. It was like walking inside a vast, fire-lit emerald.

Aragorn looked up in awe, seeing open air walkways cris-crossing level upon level, more than he could count, the huge inner hub lined with carved stairways and platforms. It was easily the size of Minas Tirith, contained underground.

This, he realized, was a great dwarf city as it should be: polished stone, massive architecture, and an impeccable cleanliness.

And the Heir of Elendil, King of Gondor, could indeed feel the underlying, earth-bound strength of the place. _Mahal's people. Durin's folk._

He'd seen sketches of Thrain, King Under the Mountain: an imposing figure in his crown and jewels.

It did not prepare him for the dwarf he met when their group was directed through the massive King's Hall and into a more reasonably-sized reception room. He expected the cold austerity of stone and metal.

He was surprised to find the room warmly comfortable, with wood and leather. But neither did he miss the mithril fittings and the exquisite colored glass with inset jewels.

And then a singular Dwarf who could only be Fili, King Under the Mountain, Son of Durin.

Aragorn let the others in the group precede him, watching as King Bard was greeted with a firm hand clasp.

Erebor's King was as golden as the light that filled his halls. Taller, slimmer, and more refined than his rougher cousin, Gimli. He was quite well groomed and wore fine fabrics and leather but little in the way of precious metals. Two rings, a few beads on the ends of braids. A simple beard, cut as short as Aragorn's own.

Now he watched as Erebor's King greeted Legolas.

"I apologize," the King said in a quiet, husky voice, "For being absent during your recent visit." He offered a slight head bow, hand on heart.

Legolas returned the gesture. "Your brother explained that your schedule was full."

"My brother was following security protocols," Fili stated. "I was halfway to the Iron Hills and not at home."

Legolas raised an eyebrow and inclined his head again. "I hope your travels were safe."

Erebor's King smiled graciously. "They were. Thank you."

Aragorn could have been knocked over with a feather. That was well done, he thought, for an Erebor dwarf not to snarl at an elf of the Woodland Realm. His opinion of Erebor's King jumped to high standing.

He recalled, then, Gandalf's words regarding Erebor, spoken many years back. "Fili is no Thorin Oakenshied, and I say that as a compliment. Fili can think and he's far better mannered. Unlike his uncle and the kings before him, he holds a deep and abiding love for his people far more than for the wealth of the Mountain. Which is vast, I might add. And he has one very strong quality with which Thorin always struggled."

"What is that?" Aragorn had asked.

"Empathy." Gandalf had bowed his head. "Fili understands why people defend their homes, and he is stronger for it. And never underestimate him. He's a formidable foe. He well knows the importance of keeping Erebor out of the clutches of the dark lord. If Sauron can tap the power of that mountain, he will be unassailable."

Fili turned to the men of Gondor, dressed simply as soldiers. Bruilan introduced himself, the exchange was polite.

And then the King of Erebor turned to Aragorn.

Keen, sharp eyes, a twitch of an eyebrow, and then a deep bow.

"My lord King of Gondor," he said. "Fili, King of Erebor, at your service."

Aragorn could not help but smile. There was no fooling this one. He bowed in return, hand on heart.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, at yours and your family's," he replied, intentionally avoiding the more formal responses that would have been required had they been introduced in a more official setting. "Well met, my lord."

"My thanks," Fili said. "I am honored by your visit."

Aragorn regarded the older dwarf with sympathy. He could see strain on the King's face.

"I do not mean to impose," he said. "I know you have bigger concerns at the moment. I have come to ask, my lord, how I might help. I well remember Gandalf's opinion of you and your brother…and I recognize the sacrifices of Erebor in holding fast the northern lands. Without it, we would have never prevailed in the south. I would honor that and you, if I can."

Fili met his gaze as if both heartened and unsure of his offer.

"What is it that you need, my Lord?" Aragorn asked.

"What I need," he said, his face somber. "Is my brother."

* * *

_****Author's notes:** Of Thorin's original company-seven still reside in Erebor: Fili, Kili, Dwalin, Gloin, Dori, Bofur and Bombur. (Nori may be alive, but he hasn't been seen since before Balin departed for Moria. The others are confirmed deceased. Oin, Balin and Ori in Moria; Bifur from a battle injury 25 years after BoFA.)_

_The Erebor Ravenspeakers (and their raven names) are: Fili (King), Kili (Raven Prince), Dwalin (Nut Head), Gloin (Redbeard), Dori (Club Tail), Nÿr (Hen-hen), Fjalar (King but not King), Beka (Mountain Lassie), and Dori's nephews (Nori's offspring by two different mothers) Náriss (Beak Nose), Máuriss (One-Eye), and Duf (Peas.) Though everyone wonders if the ravens really mean Pees. Duf is well known for consuming ale._

_Line of Durin via Thror: Fili, his children (Fjalar, Gunz, Hannar, Iri), Kili. _

_Line of Durin via Thror's father Dain I: Thorin Stonehelm, King of the Iron Hills._

_Line of Durin via Thror's Grandfather, Nain II: Dwalin (his daughter Beka), Gloin, (Gimli, who is usually away adventuring,) Dori, Náriss, Máuriss, Duf, Nÿr._

_Bofur and Bombur reside with honor in Erebor, but are neither from the Line of Durin nor are they Ravenspeakers. They do hold rank among the miners and are often included in Council matters based on their status as members of Thorin's original company._

_**And welcome to newcomers if you've just discovered these stories. I know it's hard to comment mid-story, but feel free to drop a note. All feedback welcome…either a review or PM me. Huge thanks to everyone who's been reading. I appreciate your support! Really, it means a lot. Thanks much.****_


	8. Chapter 8

****My apologies ahead of time to Tolkien purists **who will notice I run a bit loose with the story of Glaurung and Túrin Turambar. It's an AU!...I invite you to roll with it. ;-)…as always, drop me a note! Huge thanks to all of you. **-Summer****

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Kili, Prince of Erebor, held captive in a goblin fight ring, was not fighting. So far he'd avoided death, but he knew that might not last.

Yagrat the she-goblin had dragged herself up to become his protector. She stood between him and the seventh sorry goblin to be tossed into the ring, growling her intentions. Six unlucky goblins lay beheaded around the ring, victims of her sword. The dirt was wet with their blood.

The Hidden One had roused her to fight, Kili understood this. Directed her sword. It was his counter-move to Kili's refusal to play.

_You seek to thwart my plans by letting yourself be killed, coward dwarf. Enough of this. There are other ways to inspire you._

Kili had the sense of being circled.

_It is time I showed you the she-elf. _

Kill felt hotter, suddenly. He had a sense of raging fire filling his mind, his fever spiking.

_Here she is. Take a look…_

A newcomer was forced into the mental conversation. Not Yagrat.

And to Kili, the newcomer felt as though (she?) was a spirit wrapped tight around herself, also refusing to be a plaything.

She-elf? Kili was suddenly horrified. The Hidden One had trapped an elf?

_Say hello. _

Kili had the sense of being circled again, but the newcomer was silent.

Who? He demanded. Who have you taken?

"Kili?"

The bottom dropped out of his world. He knew that voice, even as it sounded faint and distant in his mind.

"_Mahal…_," he whispered. "Táuriel?"

* * *

Nÿr, healer trainee and Daughter of Durin, half hid behind Skirfir as the newcomers were led in to sit at the large, square table in the King's Chamber. She recognized Lord Gimli and the elf Legolas. She certainly knew King Bard.

She did not know the two men of Gondor, and when Fili quietly introduced them to his council, she felt the blood leave her face. One of them was an advance guard. The other was much more important, traveling incognito.

_Aragorn son of Arathorn. The King of Gondor. _

She still had a skunk pod in her pocket. She wondered if she should use it on herself.

Skirfir must have sensed her shock. He reached back and gripped her hand in mutual support. He was telling her to hope, she realized, that this room full of powerful leaders could find a way to save Kili, the one person who mattered most to the simple healer and the young Lieutenant who watched.

Maps were spread out and Gloin recapped the known information. "Our latest reports tell us that the Erebor guard has dispatched seventeen giant spiders," he pointed to the area between the Pinnacles and the forest. "Though there could well be more."

The rest of the King's Council, Nÿr and Skirfir included, sat in silence on the sidelines, watching the discussion unfold.

Nÿr simply wanted to stay unnoticed and remain in the room.

Gloin finished his recap with Skirfir's story and the speculation about the dragon's words.

"Though we are uncertain such a thing is possible," Gloin finished.

There was a thoughtful silence.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Legolas said slowly, looking at Aragorn. "The dragon Glaurung long tormented Túrin Turambar. That dragon drove Túrin mad until he took his own life to be free of him."

Fili slowly sank to his chair, his expression stricken.

Nÿr felt light-headed.

"Has your brother ever tried to take his own life?" Aragorn's words were gentle and quiet in the silent room.

Fili could only nod. "More than once," he said, his voice husky, eyes wide.

Legolas looked grim. "Then it is completely possible that Erebor's Prince is having a battle of minds with that dragon," he said. "Knowing the full tale," he looked significantly at Fili. "I suspect the battle has been raging for eighty years."

"That dragon lies dead under old lake town," Fili stated, looking a bit shaken. "I was there. I saw it fall."

"Who can say what really kills a dragon?" Aragorn murmured. "They were bred by Morgoth long ago…they are powerful forces above and beyond their physical selves."

"I agree." Legolas's hand traced the length of the lake on the map. "Something holds its spirit here, but it's not making a lot of sense."

Aragorn looked from Legolas to Fili. "What does make sense is we kill that dragon once and for all and free your brother from his torment."

"Kili is held by the goblins in the catacombs," Bard pointed to an area along the bank of the Forest River.

Nÿr knew that area. She'd noted it on the maps before. With some small sense of relief, she realized the stone of Erebor still ran beneath the surface in that part of the woods. It stretched some distance into the Greenwood along the river, in fact.

"Who can you send?" Gimli asked. "If someone can safeguard him, the goblin horde can be set upon and routed."

"I will go," Legolas volunteered.

Gimli snorted. "If he's sick or injured, the Prince of Erebor is not likely to trust the Prince of the Woodland Realm."

Aragorn frowned, then looked at Legolas. "There is strife between you?"

Fili looked unhappy. "The matter of an elf Captain who gave her life to save my brother."

Aragorn's brows shot up.

Legolas's brows came together. "She should never have spoken to him," he said, his tone firm.

"He was the prisoner. She could have walked away," Fili countered.

Aragorn held up a hand. "Peace, my friends."

"Your brother was in love with her," Legolas muttered.

"She took him from his prison cell to her _bed_." Fili's face was stone, his eyes steel.

Aragorn held up both hands. "Was this love between them, truly?"

Fili looked sad now, his flare of temper gone. "I believe it was. What would have come of it, I can't say. But it was over quickly. The dragon saw to that."

"Her name was Táuriel Itaril," Legolas looked away, tension showing in the muscles of his neck. "She was as a sister to me." He looked down as if regretting the entire discussion.

Aragorn drew breath. "Then I must agree with Gimli. You are not the best warrior to send into the catacombs."

"I volunteer," Skirfir stood from the bench where he'd been forgotten.

Everyone turned around to look at the young dwarf archer who swayed slightly on his feet.

Gloin spoke up. "It would be best if we sent a Ravenspeaker," he said.

"Yet we have no Ravenspeakers to spare," Fili answered. "I would ban Dwalin and yourself. We can not give that beast any more access to the secrets of the mountain. Dori is unfit, Máuriss is one-eyed. That leaves Duf and Náriss, but neither of them are fighters. Beka and Fjalar are untrained cadets."

"You forgot me," Nÿr stood forward, standing in front of Skirfir. "Everyone else has reasons to stay. But Kili is my only reason." She locked eyes with her King.

Gimli gasped, stood and bowed. "My lady, I did not see you…"

Aragorn followed suit. "My lady, I apologize."

Fili stood and held out his hand to her. "May I introduce the Lady Nÿr, healer and Daughter of Durin."

Aragorn bowed again, hand on heart. "_Achrâchi gabilul_. At your service, My Lady."

"The Lady Nÿr is my brother's intended, a distant cousin by way of King Thror's Father's Brother's daughter."

"An orphan lass, raised in Dale," King Bard stated proudly.

Aragorn looked entirely taken aback, as if he'd never seen a dwarf lady in real life.

Fili turned to Nÿr, his expression very serious. "This is not a trainee mission. You could end up a hostage, dead, a prisoner, or worse…"

"I know what the consequences are." She stood firm.

"You may have to kill…"

Nÿr raised an eyebrow. "And who killed to defend your son, My Lord?"

Bard, surprisingly, took up her cause. "Yes, it's perfect. She can go in disguise…we can style her a Dale lass with a man for a partner."

"Take me for her partner," Bruilan said. "I know how to go among goblins."

Aragorn looked from Fili to Bard and then to Bruilan. "Bruilan has a strong arm and is skilled with a blade. He can pose as a black market trader and gain their trust. He's done it before." He looked back at Nÿr. "But it is for your King to approve, my Lady. Last I checked, dwarf lasses were a rarity in this world. A Daughter of Durin even more so."

Fili met Nÿr's steady eyes. "I can't ask you to do this," he said, almost whispering.

"You don't have to ask," she said. "Just don't say no."

The room was silent.

Nÿr spoke to Fili. "If I get there and he is dying, I can send him home to Aule's halls in peace. We can not let him suffer."

Fili looked away, his expression pained. After a moment, his face was stone again and he reached out and gripped her arm.

He did not say no.

Aragorn nodded to Bruilan. "You will have a great responsibility," he murmured.

Fili looked at Dwalin. "You will organize the battalions. Be ready to rout those damn goblins."

"And in the meantime," Aragorn said. "We drag that lakebed for dragon bones."

"And do what?" Gimli demanded.

"Burn them at midnight," Legolas answered, murder in his eyes. "When the spirit halls are closest and the dragon is most vulnerable. Force him to depart forever."

"Even better if we bring them here," Fili said, his voice firm with suppressed anger. "And burn him on the threshold of Erebor."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "Invoke the power of the mountain to break his hold on middle-earth? I agree."

"Huh," Gimli grunted. "Then what are we waiting for?"

* * *

Kili's brain whirled with disbelief as he tried hard to piece together what he was hearing and match it with the real world of the goblin fight ring before him.

In the fight ring, he saw Yagrat lift her sword and step in jerky lurches toward goblin number seven, lifting the blade to her shoulder. The crowd was yelling now, inciting the she-goblin and flinging insults. They wanted dwarf blood…

And inside Kili's head, an impossible conversation continued.

"I was the one who killed him," Táuriel's voice still sounded distant to Kili. "It was my hand that aimed Bard's arrow. And then I fell…and because I was his killer, he trapped me."

Bard's arrow…?

"It is the dragon, Kili," Táuriel's voice told him. "This is Smaug. He lingers in the spirit halls, bent on revenge against the house of Durin."

All this time…? All these years?

"Yes. And now he's used that filthy she-goblin to trap you. It was bad enough seeing him torment you every year on Durin's Day…some years I could distract him."

Oh my brave lady…

"But some years I could not."

He has kept you from the stars.

"And he has kept you from love."

Unspoken, Kili opened his mind to her, acknowledging Nÿr, his beloved, his intended.

"I know," Táuriel's voice said. "I approve. Love her, marry her, have your children, Kili. Live as you were meant to live."

But…? He felt his heart breaking all over again. How do I free you from this?

Silence.

Yagrat swung at the other goblin and its head flew. Blood sprayed across the dirt and the crowd on the bridges and parapets around them erupted with wild jeers and cheering as bets were lost and paid.

And Yagrat turned to face him.

"I think a chance is coming," Táuriel's voice told him. "But you will have to fight, now."

Kili's uncertainty held him still. Was this truth or the Hidden One's trickery?

_Not a trick…She knows me well, and I am SMAUG THE STUPENDOUS…!_

"He is…" Táuriel's voice sounded exhausted.

_And even YOU, puling dwarf, can feel the real, sad, tragic truth of this…_

A sense of laughter.

_This is our bargain, then, kin of Oakenshield. Carry your sword into Erebor, and I will release the she-elf to the stars._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Kili, Prince of Erebor held captive in a goblin fight ring, did not agree to the bargain presented to him by the sentient spirit of Smaug.

_Carry your sword into Erebor, and I will release the she-elf to the stars._

Smaug wanted revenge through Kili's sword arm. Wanted Kili to fall under his spell and kill dwarves, kill his brother, kill his brother's children…

"Here's your answer to that," Kili said aloud. He rolled for the warhammer next to the dead goblin four paces away, the long rope tied to his ankle sweeping through dirt as he did so. He wrapped his hands around the heavy weapon and swung into a defensive crouch.

Yagrat, the twisted she-goblin, hissed.

"You've beheaded seven goblins," he said to her. "Blade's gotta be dull." He kicked his ankle tether out of range.

She hissed louder, feinting at him. This was the depraved creature who'd chained him up for torture and marked him as hers.

"Come get me, sweetheart," he taunted.

She lunged at his stomach. He dodged right.

Powered by the spirit of Smaug, she launched herself at him in earnest, blade jabbing for his gut.

Kili backed up for fighting room, spun for momentum, and the warhammer caught Yagrat just under her left ear. Blood flew and the force of the blow knocked her close to the dropoff. She landed hard and lay unmoving.

On the bridge overhead the goblins hooted their approval, the noise around them rising in volume.

Kili grabbed a sword on his way past another dead goblin and hacked off the rope tied to his right foot, though the shackle remained.

Goblin sword in his hand, he limped to Yagrat and looked down at her. Ugly, pale, tumor-ridden. It was really Smaug, not Yagrat. It was just Yagrat's body.

But he shuddered at the sight of her—at the fate of someone with morgul poison in their veins—someone caught and tormented by Smaug.

Kili couldn't help it. He wanted that thing to be dead.

With both hands on the hilt of the sword, he pointed the blade down, and with his face contorted in disgust, raised his hands, aimed, and planted the blade firmly in her chest, driving the tip all the way through her into the dirt.

The noise around the ring turned deafening. The goblin horde approved.

Kili closed his eyes. He already knew the next goblin they tossed into the ring would be bigger, meaner, and tougher.

The fight would be on.

* * *

Lady Nÿr, Ravenspeaker and healer, consulted Nama, the Queen's bodyguard, in the matter of dressing for her covert mission into a goblin enclave. It was two hours to sunrise and she was focused on her task.

She found herself dressed in cast offs, her own worn travel boots…and a ratty cloak. Her hair was back in a tight braid, rolled around itself and pinned tight to be out of the way. "These are old things," Nama told her. "Cast them off and leave them behind if need be." Nama stood back with a critical eye. "You certainly look travel worn and downtrodden." She nodded her approval.

Then Nama handed her a beat-up short staff with an old metal tip, no barbs, and gave her a quick lesson.

"Thrust through the stomach up into the heart. You know that one," Nama demonstrated. "In, out."

Nÿr nodded.

"Second, hold it horizontal," Nama held the staff in both hands. "Push hard up against the throat, knee into the groin, and break the windpipe."

"Got it."

"Jabbing. Always strike from your hip," she jabbed low at Nÿr. "If you hold it high over your shoulder like a club," she demonstrated, "You leave yourself too exposed. Your opponent can grab you or it. Keep it low and jab. Much harder for the enemy to defend."

Nÿr practiced a dozen quick moves.

"Good. For defense, hold it with both hands. Jab with the ends, or use it to block."

Nÿr practiced a few more moves. Nama nodded her approval.

"Last thing: a hunting knife," Nama handed over a thick bladed knife. "You know where the big arteries are better than I do, lass."

Nÿr sheathed it and finally the two dwarf lasses looked at each other.

Nama reached for Nÿr, hands on her shoulders, closed her eyes, and leaned forward to touch foreheads.

"Thank you," Nÿr said.

"Mahal's luck, lassie. Bring him home."

Nÿr couldn't answer. She didn't trust her voice. She nodded. Swallowed. Gripped Nama's shoulder.

And then she turned away.

She had meant to avoid Lady An, the Queen. But when she turned, An was there. The Queen had been spending her time sequestered deep inside Erebor with her younger children.

One look at the Queen told Nÿr that she hadn't been sleeping well.

An offered a simple hug. "Fili told me what you said."

"About going?"

"About releasing him into Aule's arms. Mahal, Nÿr. We want Kili back alive. But if it comes to it…" She bit her lip and nodded.

Nÿr refused to give in to tears, though they threatened. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. We have help," Nÿr said. "Fili saw to that."

An nodded. "Let's hope it is enough."

Nÿr squeezed her hand, then turned and left.

She found Skirfir before sunrise on the western terrace, mustering with the archers as the battalions formed up. They were headed on foot for the north bank of the Forest River.

She had cleared Skirfir for duty herself.

"It will be a long march," she said.

"I'm up for it." His cheek was still bruised, but his eyes were bright and clear.

Nÿr nodded, then shrugged with a half smile. "You're a dwarf. Takes a lot to hold us back."

Skirfir looked at her, suddenly sober. "Stay alive, Nÿr. However this turns out, if I don't know where you are, I will find you. I will find both of you-I don't care if I have to abandon my post to do it."

Nÿr nodded. After a moment, she reached into her pocket and put something into his hand.

He looked down. It was her carved raven, the little gift from Kili that had become their token for a tryst, with Skirfir as their go-between.

Their eyes met. His were round, and then she saw him clench his fist around it and look back at her with a fierce determination and a silent promise.

And then the archers were moving out in formation. Nÿr stood back and watched them go.

To her right, she spotted Fjalar and Beka. She walked to them and said good morning.

Both of them looked very much on duty. So serious. So young.

She spoke to them as Ravenspeaker to Ravenspeakers. "Send the ravens after us, but try to keep them from swarming," Nÿr told them. "The goblins have killed too many of them as it is."

She spotted the odd boxes sitting against the stone wall.

"What have you got there?" she asked.

"Bird boxes," Beka said, lifting a lid to show nesting material inside.

"They've been over-flying themselves," Fjalar explained.

Nÿr nodded. "I heard about Huq."

Beka nodded. "It's especially bad in the afternoon when it's hot. Isolate them and they calm down." She held up a flask of salted honey-water. "Instead of dying, they recover."

"Several of them are already flying messages again," Fjalar said. "Like nothing was ever wrong."

"Healers call it decompressing," Nÿr murmured. "Quiet time for the body to recover." She smiled gently at them. So young, trying so hard to do good things.

She heard a call go up for her.

"My ride is here," she said to them. "Sharp eyes, Ravenspeakers." She nodded and turned for the duty commander.

But she considered their bird boxes and the concept of decompressing. Good technique, she thought.

But whether she would ever need to know that again, she couldn't say. She double checked her small stash of healer supplies, tucked into pockets and inside her boots. No satchel this time. She needed to travel unhindered.

Then duty commander pointed her toward Bruilan and a Dale man mounted on a tall horse. Dwalin was there, explaining their plan.

"There are Dale men with fresh horses along the way, so you will change mounts and travel faster." He nodded to the Dale man. "This rider will lead you as far as the pinnacles. Leave your horses there. The ravens will show you the way to the cave."

Dwalin held the bridle of the horse they were to take, and Bruilan, dressed as a scraggy plainsman, mounted, reaching down to pull Nÿr up behind him.

"You'll pass the battalions on the way out," Dwalin said. "Your job will be easier at the other end if you let the goblins charge out to meet us before you go in."

Bruilan agreed.

Then he clucked to the horse and headed down the switchbacked trail of the western slope. They were just two mismatched travelers, heading off against unlikely odds.

* * *

Three men, two dwarves, and one elf were on the Lake before sunrise. A Dale ship and barge had been alerted overnight and was laden and bound for Esgaroth.

Aragorn conferred with Haleth of Rohan, who would disembark in Esgaroth and ride back to the Prince Faramir, who, along with Eowyn maintained the pretense that Gondor's King remained with the Royal Caravan, still well south of the lake.

Fili checked the load of ale barrels that Erebor dwarves had loaded in the pre-dawn hours.

"Ale?" Legolas asked, looking down at the dozen barrels. Beside him, Gimli chuckled knowingly and winked at Fili.

"Just these two," Fili said. "Erebor Salted Wheat Ale. Only brewed in summer. There'll be lads eager for this in Esgaroth." He patted the barrel.

Legolas looked puzzled.

"The rest," Fili popped the lid on a third barrel. "Is wheel grease."

Legolas frowned, leaned forward to peek inside, then looked up sharply to add up the remaining barrels.

"Gold," he said.

Fili smiled. "Always the best way to get anything done at that end of the lake," he said. "Especially if you're in a hurry."

Gimli was laughing heartily at Legolas's expense.

As the sun rose, the sails filled, catching the brisk morning wind off the mountain.

They were making good time for Esgaroth.

Fili looked west, into the trees along the shoreline. Somewhere in that forest was the goblin enclave where his brother was held captive.

Legolas looked south. He'd sent messages to the Woodland Realm. The woods should be alive with their hunters by now.

Gimli sat, looking forward toward Esgaroth, contemplating the odds for battle and sharpening his axe.

* * *

It was Corax who met Nÿr and Bruilan at the Pinnacles. He swooped but refused Nÿr's upraised arm.

"Can you let me down?" she asked. Bruilan was courteous and gently handed her down, concerned about the drop.

She smiled to reassure him. She wasn't made of glass, after all. Then she walked several feet away and raised her arm again, and this time Corax coasted in, pulling up at the last minute with feet outstretched.

He was shy of the man.

Nÿr asked if he would take them to Raven Prince.

"To the cave, then we hide," she said. "After many goblins leave, we go inside. You come."

Corax shook himself. "Bad place…baaaad place."

"Yes. But Raven Prince is there, true?"

"Yes. Raven Prince. First friend." Corax ducked his head as if struggling with the idea of both avoiding and entering the goblin cave.

"We will go inside to get him back."

Corax ducked, flapped, then sharpened his beak on her gauntlet.

"Can you do this, Corax?" Nÿr asked, her voice low.

Corax pinned her with one beady eye, bobbed, and then took off, landing in a tree across the clearing, quorking loudly. That was the way.

Nÿr walked back to Bruilan, who had dismounted and was handing the horse's reins to their guide.

This is where they would part ways with their horses.

"It is one of the most curious things I've seen, this ability to talk to ravens," he said to her. "Can it be learned?"

"No," she said, trying to meet his eyes without getting a kink in her neck. "A Ravenspeaker is born with it. From a healer's point of view, I can't explain it. It's much like being born with perfect pitch or the sense of always knowing true north."

Bruilan shouldered a travel sack full of tradable copper and tin scraps.

"He agrees to be our guide?" he nodded toward Corax.

"Yes. That is Corax. He knows Kili well and he's been inside the goblin cave once already." Nÿr considered the raven. "He is afraid to go back in," she said, swinging the tattered cloak over her shoulders. "But he will do it for me."

Bruilan nodded, checked his sword and led off. By mutual agreement, Nÿr followed a meek three steps behind, playing downtrodden slattern to Bruilan's black market trader.

From here on, they would be on their own.

* * *

Fili's barrels of "wheel grease" had commandeered a crew of longshoremen with a large dredge who brought them to the remnants of old Laketown. The newer city of Esgaroth had been built a quarter league away from the dragon's resting place. It was one hour past noon and they already had a pile of dragon bones pulled up from the lake bottom.

The biggest haul: the massive dragon skull, resting on the long, wide barge. It was easily the size of another ship.

Fili could only stare with a mix of revulsion and awe at the wicked teeth and the sheer size.

"I've heard stories about you all my life," Fili said to it, brows drawn in concentration. He'd just sent off a raven, alerting the mountain to their prize.

"So have I," Aragorn said, eyes wide. The massive skull was taller than Gondor's King.

Gimli poked his axe at the fangs, testing their mettle.

Legolas had a faraway look on his face. "I can sense him. He knows we have disturbed his resting place." His unfocused eyes went to the sky. "And he is…not alone." His voice was quiet, disturbed. He made a hand motion, as if trying to touch something.

Fili didn't quite know what to make of the elf's odd behavior, but Gimli seemed to take it in stride. "I'm just happy to see the dragon's neck is still attached," he announced. "It will make fine axework, that-chopping it off."

Legolas turned sharply to Aragorn. "I am leaving you," he said. "I sense I am needed in my father's halls."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows, but didn't object. "By all means."

Legolas leapt from the barge to a smaller boat, swung himself into the rigging and took a rope to the vessel beyond. In moments he had gained the rickety line of an old dock, a remnant of Laketown that was, and had darted for the woods.

Fili watched him go, then turned back to the work at hand when Bard shouted, "Ho!" and the longshoremen pulled on ropes, bringing a large chunk of the dragon's breastbone to the surface and pulling it, wet and dripping, to land on the barge near the great skull.

Fili's heart lifted. So far, so good. He wanted this dragon's final destruction like nothing else. They would burn it, sure. But he'd also left Bofur with a clear set of instructions for something special, just in case this dragon needed an extra incentive to clear out once and for all.

And he had no doubt that Bofur would follow through.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Corax the raven swooped right at them. "Gobbbbliiinnns!" he screamed.

Nÿr, healer apprentice traveling in disguise, didn't have time to translate as an ugly pack of goblins charged straight for them.

But Bruilan, the man of Gondor, was ready for a fight.

"Down!" Bruilan ordered her.

Nÿr tried to hit the dirt, but a goblin crashed into her, grabbing her by the back of her neck and pushing her sideways.

Bruilan drew his wicked-sharp long sword and swung it in a great arc, slicing four goblins at once.

Nÿr ducked her head and twisted around, getting her hands on the short staff that dangled from her belt. She pulled it from the ring on her hip, ramming the handle straight into her captor's groin, just as Nama had shown her.

The goblin's eyes bulged and it went to its knees as she got the staff in both hands, brought it down against the back of his neck and kneed him hard in the chin.

Its neck snapped against the staff with an audible crack and it went limp.

Gray-green goblin blood sprayed across her face as Bruilan dispatched a one-armed goblin with a raised club.

Nÿr spun, faced a tall goblin who shrieked at her, both hands on its upraised sword. She took the opportunity he presented: unguarded stomach. She plunged the metal point of the staff into his gut, thrusting upward to his heart. She watched his face go blank in surprise, the weight of his own sword pulling him backward. She jerked her staff free and turned to confront the next goblin.

Except there wasn't one. She and Bruilan were the only two standing amidst a dozen dead enemy.

Bruilan held his long sword at the ready and circled, listening for more goblins.

He locked eyes with Nÿr, raised his eyebrows as he realized she was unhurt, and then looked at her two kills.

He held up a thumb, meaning _good job_.

And unlike the first time she'd killed a goblin defending the King's son, Nÿr had no regrets this time, except the bottom half of her staff was bloody. She looked for a mossy tree trunk and quietly scraped it against the green spongy stuff.

Goblins. Yeech.

"Let's hope that was just a random patrol," Bruilan murmured. He picked up his sack of scrap copper and tin from where he'd dropped it and motioned her to come along. He led off, cleaning his sword with a scrap of cloth as he walked, then sheathing the bright blade.

Nÿr followed a few steps behind, wetting a cloth with water from her flask and cleaning her face as best she could.

They had to look like itinerant traders, after all.

She picked up a plain, hammered tin helmet that had rolled off a dead goblin, putting it on over her slightly mussed hair, completing her disguise as scrappy, wandering dwarf.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, but she could still bring back Nÿr the orphan lass who felt she was worth nothing, who was fearful of the man who was her partner, who was willing to put up with mistreatment because she was so afraid of being cast aside…

She pushed aside a scoff at her younger self and tapped into that past.

And she made herself hunch as she walked, kept her eyes cast down as much as possible, changing her stride from confident lass to meek female afraid of attracting the man's wrath.

Corax landed on a downed tree beside the narrow trail.

"Ivy cliff," the raven muttered. "Dark place behind the vines."

"Are we near, Corax?" she asked in a low voice.

Ahead of her, Bruilan turned to look at them.

"Almost there," Corax clucked. "Watch."

"He says we're close," Nÿr translated. "Watch where he goes." Corax took the air and flew over their heads.

As one, the man of Gondor and the dwarf lass had their eyes on the raven as he glided silently ahead.

And that's when Nÿr felt the sword tip in her back and a goblin hand covering her mouth.

* * *

"Do you think this is enough of the dragon?" Fili asked Gondor's King. They stood side by side on a wide, flat lake barge with several loads of dredged up dragon bones lying on deck, including the massive skull, still attached to the neck and a hefty-sized piece of the spine and ribcage.

"Hard to say," Aragorn admitted. "But we have the head and the heart." He gestured toward the great skull and the massive breastbone. They also had the pelvis and many wing and leg bones.

Fili waited for one more pass of the hired longshoremen's drag hooks. When he saw that they brought up nothing for the third time, he was ready to call it done.

"Let's get it to the Mountain," Fili said. "If we're lucky, the afternoon winds will pick up a bit early." He considered the blue sky as the barge captain picked up anchor and raised sail.

Then he studied their catch. The afternoon heat and sun would dry out the bones a bit, but after sitting underwater for 81 years, Fili knew they wouldn't dry completely.

The first step when they got back to the Mountain: dump a flammable oil mix all over them.

And then Fili intended to smash that skull himself.

He was carefully nurturing a smoldering rage, and he considered his options. Sword, axe, mace?

Warhammers, he decided. Big, heavy. Crushing. He could almost feel one in his hand, a heavy hammerhead on a sturdy handle.

And the Mountain. He was a Son of Durin and the Mountain would help him end this once and for all.

He owed it to the people he'd seen killed in Laketown that night.

He owed it to his uncle, Thorin Oakenshield, and all their people who died when this cursed dragon attacked Erebor.

And he owed it to his brother and eighty-one years of torment.

* * *

Nÿr couldn't get her bearings, being relentlessly pushed and shoved along. But as long as she played meek, she realized they weren't giving her much attention.

Bruilan, on the other hand, was obviously their focus. The goblins had managed to get a rope wrapped around the tall man's arms, pinning them to his sides, and they jerked and pulled him along, taunting.

And they laughed as they went, if that odd gurgling could be called laughter.

They were rushed to an ivy-covered rockface, and Nÿr thought they would be hustled inside.

Except her captors were met by an angry war-goblin bellowing as it strode out, gesturing a line of armed goblins behind him to head east.

Bruilan was shoved aside and he spared her a glance that said _keep quiet_.

_They've spotted Erebor's battalions on the march_, Nÿr realized. Just like Dwalin said, the goblins were charging out to meet the threat.

She wanted to count them, estimate how many were pounding past. But she stayed in character and hunched under the tattered cloak. With any luck, they wouldn't even know she was female.

The mass exit went on for a good while. Hundreds, she figured. Hundreds were leaving.

Then the bellowing war-goblin shouted and chivvied their escort into joining the line of departing goblins. One shook his head, hand tight to Bruilan's rope.

Some sort of argument ensued, ending when the war-goblin pointed to Bruilan and jerked his head toward the cave's entry.

"_Orzhak_," he said.

Bruilan's captor didn't argue. He turned to grab a fistful of Nÿr's cloak, dragging her along as he shoved Bruilan forward.

Nÿr followed. She couldn't get to her staff, but she might be able to get her leather belt off, use it as a garrote.

But she didn't have a chance.

Their lone escort hurried them down a main corridor, then took a left-hand tunnel only to find a half dozen rat-faced goblins blocking their way. Bruilan was pushed forward, poked, looked over, and critically considered.

Nÿr backed up and huddled in a corner out of the torch light, hoping to be forgotten or overlooked.

Bruilan's bonds were cut, his sheathed sword and coat cast aside, landing not far from her feet. A set of heavy iron manacles were handed from one goblin to another.

Nÿr kept her eye on the discarded sword and started looking around for a better hiding place. There, in the dark, a crooked wooden door hung about an inch open, as if someone had departed in a rush.

Bruilan towered over the little mob around him, and he elbowed and pushed back as they attempted to lock the manacles around his wrists. He stomped hard on the foot of one goblin, and after much shrieking, spears came out, all pointed at him.

Nÿr tested the door, listening for signs of an occupant. With the goblins completely occupied with Bruilan, she used her foot to catch a piece of the scabbard's belt and drag the sword slowly towards her, backing for the darker shadows and the door.

Bruilan roared an objection as they captured one wrist and bolted the manacle around it.

Nÿr nudged the door open. In the distance, somewhere deeper in the cave, she heard a sudden roar of more goblins, followed by a chant. Were they…_cheering?_

Fight ring. Fili had interpreted Corax's description of Kili's location as a goblin fight ring.

And she realized their intentions for Bruilan must be the same.

More cheering, as if something they liked had just happened in that ring, she figured. The group with Bruilan stopped, listened, and began nodding and laughing.

"_Orzhak! Orzhak !"_ They repeated, pushing Bruilan forward, completely forgetting Nÿr.

She heard them taking Bruilan further down the tunnel. She bent and lifted Bruilan's sword. It was over-sized for a dwarf, but she could carry it on her back, hope to return it to him.

The trick would be to do that without getting caught again herself.

The sound of flapping bird feathers caught her attention and she looked up, seeing Corax land overhead in the high rocky ceiling, his glossy feathers reflecting torch light.

"Raven Prince," he muttered, eyeing the shadows where Nÿr crouched. "You come?"

* * *

Kili had started feeling more himself as soon as Yagrat, Smaug's personal she-goblin, had breathed her last.

And he'd been right. The next opponent they dropped into the fight ring had been worse: a mean, stooped and heavy goblin with a spiked club.

He might have been in trouble, except spiked-club goblin was slow and fought only left-handed. Approach it from the right and it couldn't defend itself.

Kili had a badly-forged short sword abandoned by one of the many dead goblins in the ring, but it was enough. He toyed with the goblin as long as he could, as long as the watching crowd would tolerate.

But Kili was tired, still sweaty with an un-natural fever, and hampered by the aching, burning scars on his right leg, just above the knee.

The site of his morgul wound, inflamed and agitated by spider poison.

He still wanted to throw himself off the edge—throw himself into the void that surrounded the fight ring and find blessed relief in a quick, self-inflicted death.

_No! You must not, Kili! He would simply trap you, too._ It was the distant voice of his one-time lover, Tauriel, her bright elven spirit trapped by the brooding spirit of the dragon.

It was the only thing that stopped him. If her spirit could be freed, he would need to stay alive, and staying alive meant he had to fight and keep the earth beneath his feet.

He struck the goblin from the right, flaying open a beefy bicep.

The crowd roared. _"Kill! Kill! Kill!"_ they chanted.

Kili thought they didn't sound as loud as before. He glanced up. There didn't seem to be as many.

Was it a mind trick? Kili wondered at the change, but couldn't make sense of it. Didn't have time to make sense of it.

The goblin swung its spiked club with more force than Kili expected and he jumped back, losing his footing and falling to the dirt. He turned it into a roll and got back to his knees in time to see the goblin falter, off balance.

He got to his feet, tested the weight of the short sword by spinning it in a quick flourish.

It would do.

Eyes narrowed, he went on the attack, spinning the blade and surprising the goblin, who made the mistake of raising its arms in shock.

Kili slashed left through the soft stomach, spun the blade, and slashed right across the stomach again. The goblin clutched its gut and went to its knees.

And Kili slashed deep into its throat, blood pumping out in a gruesome fountain as the goblin slowly slumped sideways and went limp.

The crowd erupted into shrieks of triumph and now Kili peered up at them in earnest.

Definitely fewer goblins on the overhead bridge and parapets.

But what it meant, he couldn't fathom.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Skirfir, young lieutenant in the Erebor guard, stood with three hundred dwarven archers and aimed his bow into the air and let fly. His arrow arced high and with hundreds of other arrows, raining down on the goblin horde as it emerged lurching into the shallow vale. Goblins hated sunlight, but the dwarves of Erebor were forcing them into the afternoon sun.

The arrows hit, and the rag-tag scrappers fell backwards or ducked and cowered. Some even turned tail, running back to the woods for cover but finding the blades of Erebor's infantry instead.

"Fire at will!" came the call from the captains.

_With pleasure_, Skirfir thought. He narrowed his eyes at the melee in the vale and drew another arrow from his quiver, nocked the shaft, pulled back the bowstring, and let fly again into the air.

All the archers fired continually now, sending a steady rain down on the enemy, arrows angling down and hitting the goblins in the face and head. Goblins that were busy shielding their skulls didn't have time to defend against warriors on foot, and they were easy prey.

It was starting to look like a rout.

Skirfir kept at it, following orders to keep the rain of dwarf arrows well away from the wall of dwarf swords.

Halfway through his second quiver, the muscles in his right shoulder began to burn. His strength held, but it was like pulling many stoneweights over and over. His left arm pushed against that same weight as it held the bow steady, though it took more concentration each time he aimed.

Only four months ago his left collarbone had been split by a goblin club, and while it was healed, by the third quiver of arrows, the pain was fierce.

Skirfir ignored it. He paused long enough to re-sight his targets, grimly satisfied to see the mass of goblins breaking apart.

He raised his bow arm again.

_Just so long…_ Skirfir drew, nocked, and pulled.

_As they never…_ He pointed up at the best angle.

_Bother Erebor…_ He let the arrow fly.

_Ever again. _

* * *

Kili could barely stand. He was the only living warrior in the goblin cavern's torchlit fight ring and he was exhausted. There were nine goblins lying dead on the dirt, gutted or beheaded…including Yagrat, Smaug's puppet.

Yes, Kili told himself. Yagrat was done for. Smaug could not harm him through her ever again.

He heaved for breath, his heartbeat slowing after the last fight. Shirtless, bloody, and covered in cave filth and goblin blood, Kili felt no real triumph in winning against the lumbering creature he'd just slaughtered. Made him kind of light-headed, in fact.

And he still wanted to end this nightmare by engineering his own death. Kili looked for the dropoff, the cliff edge, then looked at his feet, struggling against that urge. _Just run to the edge, jump over the side. Or fall on this sword…cut your own throat. _There were fifty ways to do it.

_No, Kili. You must stay alive_, the distant voice in his head kept telling him. It was Tauriel, her spirit voice that sounded distant in his head.

Or a crazy hallucination…or the spirit of the dead dragon tricking him. He wasn't entirely sure.

_A chance is coming, _she said. _Just rest. Rest. Stay quiet. _

Unable to sort truth from illusion or find the energy to move, he stood and did nothing. What would come next, he did not know.

He let the tip of the scavenged blade rest on the dirt and he looked high overhead at the open air bridges and parapets of the goblin cave. The audience had thinned, the noise abated. There were not so many of them crowding to lay their bets and collect their winnings.

_Why?_ He wondered.

Then movement overhead. Someone descending on a rope lift. Then two more figures descending.

Kili's heart sank. _What now?_ He had no doubt his next opponent would be bigger and tougher. Harder to kill.

What he didn't expect was for it to be a man.

The first goblin hit the floor, snarled at him and struck out quickly with a whip.

Kili backed up in alarm, half raising the sword in defense, the tip of the long whip catching him on the arm.

It stung sharp and hot. The goblin glared at him and Kili was happy to back up a few more steps. The whip was not raised again.

But Kili could see the man, hands bound in front and blindfolded as he was pushed to place not far from Yagrat's body. Not a Dale man, Kili realized. Some kind of trader from the plains.

_He is part of our chance, I think,_ Tauriel's voice speculated.

Kili wasn't so sure. He watched, both hands on the foriegn sword, holding it low. He blinked sweat from his eyes and shifted his weight to his left leg. The right knee burned like molten metal and he felt the red haze of morgul fever rising, but he shook his head, trying to clear it, and flexed his fingers on the sword grip.

There were three goblins with the man, now. Kili watched them bickering, gesturing at the bridge overhead.

Something was happening up there—there were shouts. The three with the man looked up, alarmed.

And then laughed. One of them held up two fingers, pointed them at Kili, and nodded, snickering.

Mahal, Kili realized. They have another prisoner and they want a two-to-one fight.

* * *

Fili kept one hand on the rail as the wind-driven barge dropped sail and ran aground on the thin, sandy shoreline of the lake south of Erebor.

Momentum took the large boat up the beach a good length before forward motion stalled. It slid back a foot or two and then settled.

On the rise above the lakeshore, Fili saw his people. Line upon line of Erebor's citizens, somber and watching, miner and crafter, scholar and merchant alike.

They wanted to see the dragon, he realized. Needed to see it.

In the forefront, he spotted a circle of sketch artists, already hunched over their work, busy with pencils and paper, capturing the moment for posterity.

Mahal, he hadn't thought of that, but bless whoever had.

Fili wasn't nearly vain enough to pose by the bones, but he did stay in one place to make it easier on them.

The lower edge of the sun just touched the western hills, casting an appropriately fiery light across the scene. It was summertime in the north, and night would be short.

"Midnight's only three hours away," he said aloud.

"Aye," Gimli agreed. "And I think your lads know it."

Gimli nodded to a double line of miners and forgeworkers forming up as the barge crew dropped their loading ramp. The double line boarded in silence, wary of the bones, but Fili met them near the skull, one hand on the bony snout to show that no harm would come from touching the thing.

"Nothing but bones, lads," he reassured them. "Picked clean by the fishes, even. How's that for service?"

Impromptu bucket lines formed up, with Fili, Gimli, Bard and Aragorn helping to pass along the cache of smaller bones. Pieces as small as a brick and as large as a tree trunk, carefully passed in silence from the barge all the way up to a wide, bare expanse of stone known as the Front Step.

It took a crew of two dozen to lift the great breastbone and carry it away.

And then, thanks to the energy and industry of the dwarf helpers, the only thing remaining on the barge was the great skull with its length of neck and bits of ribcage.

Fili, Gimli, Bard and Aragorn walked down the ramp, joining a knot of Councilors and giving the workers more room.

Fili welcomed the quick news that the war battalions were routing the goblins in the northern forest. He tried not to worry about his brother. He'd sent the best help he could send. He could do nothing but trust them.

"I hope you like our staging area," Bofur said to him, embracing his long-time friend. "And I've got everything ready," he said quietly.

"Good work, Bofur," Fili patted his arm. "Thank you." And then he turned to watch the workers, his expression stony and focused.

At Bofur's signal, over a hundred, silent dwarves, including many of the guard cadets, marched grim-faced to the sounds of steady bootsteps and the barking shouts of one drill master who was calling the cadence. They lined both sides of the great skull and stood at attention, facing the bones. When they were all in place, a call went up and as one, they bent and found handholds.

"My lord King?" came the call, just as the sun was setting. "Permission to bring the beast ashore?"

Fili took a step up and shouted back. "Permission granted, my good lads and lasses of Erebor!"

A roar of approval went up from the watching crowd, and with a count of three, the dwarves with the skull lifted, and the great dragon head rose and began to make its way down the barge ramp to the broad, smooth granite slope of Erebor that would become be its funeral pyre.

Torches were lit and there was no lack of volunteers to stand and line the way with firelight.

And the dragon crew (as they become known from then on) stepped together in a purposeful cadence, moving the great skull in a procession as if carrying an over-sized coffin to its grave.

Fili stood with both feet planted on Erebor stone and watched, nursing his smoldering anger and reaching with his mind for the core of the mountain and its strength.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows, glancing curiously at Erebor's sun-haired king and deciding for himself that the stony expression meant it was not time for questions.

Bard shook his head once, indicating that he would be staying still. Gimli winked at him, as if secretly proud of his cousin and the mysteries of Erebor. "Leave him be, laddie…" Aragorn nodded and folded his hands while watching with profound interest.

And the dragon crew labored, easing the skull into position, facing it toward the great gate of Erebor, alight with torchfire itself. The massive sculptures of carved guardians glared darkly at the remains of their old enemy.

On command, the dwarven company lowered the great skull and let it rest on Erebor stone.

And Fili felt it like the great boom of an echoing drum that vibrated through the rock: the presence of the dragon touching the stone that touched his feet.

And his wall of fury was all too ready for the palpable presence of the dragon.

But Smaug said nothing, unable to get a read on the powerful presence next to him.

It may have been the dragon spirit's first moment of genuine doubt.

* * *

** As always, leave a review or a PM if so inclined! I do genuinely appreciate your support. Mahal's blessings. -Summer****


	12. Chapter 12

****Warning: this chapter rated M for a brief bit of highly suggestive nasty goblin behavior in the second to last scene.****

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Kili tried to stay on his feet. His goblin captors made hurry-up gestures to their counterparts high up on the overhead bridge, and Kili could see a goblin holding tight to a newcomer. The goblin on the bridge stepped onto a rope lift, clutching a smaller figure.

Whoever it was, they likely found the ride down to the fight ring fast and frightening.

But before the newcomer landed, the lead goblin with the whip came for Kili. He strode straight for him, striking with the whip three times in quick succession, and Kili ducked. The lash struck his shoulder, his arm, and part of one thigh before he managed to tangle the rawhide with the foreign sword and pull it from the goblin's hand, but the angry goblin came on fast and kicked hard, sending both weapons flying.

A heavy fist backhanded him, and Kili was on the dirt before he knew it. Then the goblin caught him by the hair, pulling him up into a choke hold, filthy knife at his throat.

"Quiet, you."

The goblin dragged him now, though Kili tried to keep on his feet. His world became a sideways lurching across the ring, and he only caught glances of things around him. War goblins on the overhead bridge, rounding up spectators at spear-point; the blindfolded, captive man with a sword at his back. Kili had a sense of the third prisoner, but never saw who it was. Then he was pushed and shoved roughly to a new rope lift, this one a larger cargo contraption with a flat floor of wood, ropes tied to each corner.

His goblin handler had him firmly by the hair again, knife still against his throat.

The platform swung crazily away and dropped. Kili tried to press against the knife. Yes, he thought. Cut a vein, let me bleed to death.

_No, Kili!_ Tauriel's voice echoed in his head again. _Stay!_

Then the lift landed with a jolt. The goblin pulled the knife away and pushed Kili onto the cold stone, then bent to grab the ankle cuff around Kili's right foot and locked it to a short chain anchored to a large bolt low on the rock wall.

Kili started to rise, realizing the goblin meant to abandon him here. Its foot shoved him back and it spat at him as it stepped onto the wooden platform. The rope lift whirred and the platform was lifted away, out of sight.

Kili blinked, getting up on one elbow.

So cold.

And he was alone on a small, flat oval-shaped ledge, with sheer rock going straight up behind him and a sheer dropoff into black nothing before him.

Across a deep chasm, maybe twenty feet away, two braziers and several torches burned on a long parapet, obviously connected to a tunnel. Two hunched goblins stood there. Sentinels, he realized. They watched him. He could already hear one of them laughing in a wheezing snicker.

The other one bared its teeth at him.

* * *

Aragorn stood with King Bard of Dale and watched the proceedings before him with a great sense of wonder and fascination. Erebor's King stood twenty feet away as if in a strange communion with something no one else could see.

"I saw him do something like this once before," Bard murmured, sounding worried.

Aragorn looked at the young King.

Bard looked back. "At the last battle after my father had been killed. I'm still not entirely sure what happened," he said. "But I swear the King summoned an earthquake." He nodded toward Fili. "Scared the Easterlings. Cleared the battlefield long enough for us to gather our dead and regroup." The young King of Dale looked wide-eyed in remembered shock.

Aragorn wondered what the lad would have made of the battle that same day at Minas Tirith, with legions of the Dead engulfing the white city.

"Gandalf always said this mountain was one of the most powerful places in Middle Earth," Aragorn said. "Many times he told me to mind what happened to Erebor…that it was best kept in the hands of Durin's folk and in peace."

Bard widened his eyes. "I'll vouch for that wisdom."

Aragorn smiled at the younger man. "Gandalf wasn't even sure the Kings of old fully understood this place. He said the very stone had been infused with a great spell worked long ago by masters of the art."

Aragorn watched as the dwarf King went to one knee as if in prayer, murmuring something Aragorn recognized as Khuzdul. He and Bard stood quiet, hands clasped before them in respect.

And then the King rose and turned to the crowd. He lifted his hand in invitation and Gimli, along with dwarves Aragorn recognized as Council members, came forward to join him.

And two smaller figures. Lads, Aragorn realized, trying to recall when he'd last seen a dwarf child.

"The King's older sons," Bard murmured. "That's Fjalar and the smaller one is Gunnar."

Aragorn watched them, so carefully minding their manners. It made him smile. The older one was a younger version of his father, sunny-haired but still slender with youth, wearing the formal braid and clasp of a royal prince. The younger one had a shock of copper-brown hair in a child's cut. The king made space for them at his side.

Finally, Aragorn and Bard were invited forward.

A silent line of guards in armor approached, each carrying something covered in dark cloth.

One warrior stepped forth first, going to his knee before Erebor's King. The cloth was let fall, and the warrior presented a weapon.

As Aragorn watched, King Fili, Son of Durin and King of Erebor, lifted the mighty warhammer, tested its weight in his hands, and then raised it up with one strong arm.

Erebor's people on the slope around them roared their approval. It was the warhammer of Thorin Oakenshield, himself. Brought back to service for one last battle.

And Aragorn felt the slight rumble of earth below his feet.

He and Bard looked at each other. The mountain, or Thorin, approved.

And then the soldiers presented weapons to everyone else in line.

Aragorn grinned with anticipation as a warhammer of exquisite make was presented. He accepted the weapon, surprised by its weight, and lifted it with both hands.

Beside him, King Bard of Dale did the same.

"Swing hard," Aragorn said, looking at the great jumble of dragon bones.

Bard looked grim. "I owe that dragon a thing or two, I think," he said. Then he lowered his voice. "For every ancestor he ever terrorized," he murmured, kissing the hammerhead.

"For every one," Aragorn answered.

* * *

Nÿr had been taken by surprise, stripped of Bruilan's sword, her short staff and her knife, and then hustled down a tunnel, down some stairs and onto a bridge that crossed a vast cavern.

Arms pinned, a brute of a goblin clutched her tight and stepped off the bridge before she realized he held onto a rope lift. She bit back a shriek and clenched her eyes closed, opening them only after the rough jolt of landing on solid ground. She fell to her knees, completely shocked and thoroughly frightened.

Then she saw Bruilan, tied and blindfolded. She tried to calm her heartbeat. Together. If they could just stay together.

Then she saw Kili.

_Oh, beloved! _

He was a mess. Feral, filthy…and faced by a goblin three times his size.

Her goblin brute shoved her hard toward Bruilan and Nÿr sprawled at the man's feet.

"It's just me," she said quickly to him, knowing he couldn't see her. "They have Kili-to your left."

"Quiet!" Her brute goblin smacked her hard on the backside with the flat of a blade.

_Mahal!_ Nÿr's eyes nearly bugged out at the pain and she curled around herself while the sting lingered. She wanted to cuss like a lass in labor, but tried to stay focused on Bruilan instead, tears flooding her eyes. She saw him nod in a tiny motion. He'd heard her. He was listening.

Then the other goblins were busy, dragging Kili, a knife to his throat, across the dirt ring to another lift, this one something like a cargo loader.

She gasped. They were taking him away! When the lift descended out of sight, all she could do was stare in shock. Where had they taken him?

The lift returned without Kili…and Bruilan was grabbed by rough hands and shoved toward it. Someone grabbed her by the back of her cloak and pushed her forward, and Nÿr hastened to get her feet under her and go along willingly.

She was shoved on board and she reached for Bruilan, clinging to his elbow. No one stopped her. She felt his arm press her hands closer to his side and she held on, trying to brace her feet as the platform swung dizzily away and down.

Then a sharp bump and they were dumped off, the lift pulling away so fast that Nÿr couldn't get her bearings. They both lay in a pile, side by side, Nÿr still clutching the man from Gondor like he was a lifeline.

"Bruilan! Don't move!" she said, realizing they were inches from a dropoff.

She looked around. They were on a small ledge between a sheer cliff up and a sheer drop down.

And Kili was here—at the opposite end of the little area, his foot chained to the rock, his eyes clearly seeing Bruilan as a threat. If he could have lunged, Nÿr was certain he would have pushed them both over the edge without a second thought. But the chain held him tight, giving him little room to move.

Slowly, Nÿr reached up and pulled away the blindfold from Bruilan's eyes.

"Holding cell," Bruilan said. "That's what this is. Something's interrupted their fights. I'm betting it's Erebor's battalions on their doorstep."

"You mean they'll be back for us?" She helped him sit up.

"When they have time for fight rings again," Bruilan said. "Until then, they've just put us out of the way." Together they scooted away from the dropoff to put their backs to the rock wall. Bruilan worked his hands back and forth, hoping to loosen the rope that bound his wrists.

Nÿr edged toward her beloved. She almost couldn't recognize him. Shirtless, she could see his every injury from cuts, to bruises, to fresh slashes. A bloody line across one cheekbone. A dull sheen in his eyes. Her breath caught in her chest. Morgul fever.

"Kili," she murmured. "Kili, it's Nÿr and this is Bruilan. Fili sent us here to find you. Can you understand me?"

He didn't nod. There was no sudden smile of recognition.

Then he finally spoke.

"Fee...?" His voice was hoarse, barely audible.

"Fili," Nÿr repeated. "Fili sent me to you, love."

He seemed to sway, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Nÿr?" It was nearly a whisper.

"Let us help you, love." She inched toward him. "You're very sick."

"Cold," he said. She could see him shivering.

At least she could do something about that. She pulled off her cloak and held it out, moving forward.

Bruilan nudged her with his foot. When she looked around at him, he made a _be careful _face.

She nodded. It was a risk she would take any day.

But Kili didn't object to having her come closer, as if some part of him seemed to know her through his fever, and he seemed willing to accept help.

She got the cloak around him and tested the waters further by pressing her palm to his forehead. Hot.

"Why are you here?" he whispered, shivering. He looked at her, eyes watery, despair in his fever-ridden gaze.

"To safeguard you, love. Listen. Fili understands about the dragon. He's dredged up the bones and he's burning them at midnight. Do you understand? He's forcing the dragon's spirit death, once and for all."

Kili stared at her, as if trying to understand. "Tauriel..." he murmured.

Nÿr frowned, thinking he was confusing her with his past lover.

But Kili grabbed her hand, two of his fingers still with dried blood. "Nÿr…Fili doesn't know about Tauriel."

"What about her?" Nÿr was glad of his touch, even if his hands were covered in grime. Were his fingers broken?

"He's trapped her. Dragon trapped her, all these years…"

Nÿr's eyes went wide with the horror of that thought. "_Mahal_, Kili," she breathed.

Then his face went blank a moment, followed by the first hint of his old smile. "She thinks you're beautiful and very brave. And says she will kick my _ass_," he almost grinned, his eyebrows twitched up a bit. "If I can't see it."

Nÿr found this embarrassing. She might have laughed, had the situation been less dire.

"But my ass is kicked enough." He closed his eyes. He looked exhausted and slumped against the rock wall. "Sweetheart...you can't stay here."

Nÿr's heart nearly melted. He was battered and sick, and he was worried about her.

"Look in my boot," he said, swaying with his fever.

"Left or right?"

"Left."

Nÿr gingerly felt the boot above his ankle. "What am I looking for?" she asked.

"Knife. Small one…won't help much but it will cut his bonds," he said, letting his head tilt toward Bruilan. "But be careful," he whispered. "We have watchers."

Nÿr turned in the direction he looked and saw the two goblins on the ledge across the chasm. Her fingers found the little knife in a slit of leather just above his instep-a small, simple throwing knife. His weapon of last resort.

It would work. She palmed it, and shifted position. Kili closed his eyes in relief, letting his head fall back. He might have been feigning exhaustion for the goblins' sake, but Nÿr knew it was all too real. She touched his hand, saw his brows twitch in concern, and felt him gently squeeze back.

And Nÿr understood what he meant for her to do next: stay calm, move slowly, and free the man who could be their only defender.

She did nothing for a short while, then in a moment when the goblins were ignoring them, she leaned toward Bruilan and moved to his side.

The man of Gondor saw the knife, relief flooding his face. She held the blade and let him saw the cords against it until they snapped.

"Thank you," he said, quietly. "Where'd you find this?"

"Kili's boot," she said.

Then one of the goblins stood and threw a rock in their direction. It hit the cliff wall far to the right of them.

"That's enough chatter," it snarled. "Stay quiet, you."

Bruilan and Nÿr sat still. Kili remained where he was, feigning (or not feigning) exhaustion.

But the goblin peered at them. Then hobbled to a torch, picked it up and held it as if trying to see something.

"Feeeemale…" it said, licking its lips. "Look! Look!" it elbowed its partner. "Feeeemale!"

The other one stood.

"Oh, no," Bruilan murmured.

Nÿr agreed. Had she kept her cloak on, they might have never noticed.

The goblins shouted, calling down the tunnel. In a minute, a few more goblins stood on the overlook, hooting their approval.

Nÿr was aware of Kili sitting more alert, now. Their eyes met, a bleary _what's this about_ expression on his face.

One of the goblins dropped his pants, showing her his maleness.

Bruilan moved himself forward. "Stay behind me," he said. "Don't look. They want you to see it and be shocked. If you ignore them, they can't have the pleasure."

"Nÿr," Kili murmured, getting her attention, glowering at the goblins through his fever. She took the chance to shift back to Kili's side of the ledge, sitting behind him. She wrapped her arms around to help him stay warm, and he got one protective arm around her knee.

But she could feel his swaying, even as he blocked her from view, and she could see that he struggled to focus his eyes, as if he saw things in several places at the same time.

The noise became more raucous on the overlook. Bruilan made a sound of disgust and turned his head.

And while she didn't look, Nÿr could hear the goblins admiring each others' crude displays, shouting obscenities and describing what they would like do to with her.

"Come wrap yourself around this little bed warmer…"

"Show us your stuff!"

"Don't look," Kili murmured, his words slurring. "Just keep your head down..."

One of them made sucking noises.

"When the battle's over," a squat goblin shouted, "And the boys are back…wait til fight ring opens again…!"

"Naked battle," several exclaimed.

"Put me in the ring with her…I'll give her a pounding!"

And then there were forty or fifty of them crowding the ledge. Someone threw a torch and it landed near Bruilan.

He kicked it away.

And in the moment when he moved, Nÿr could see them across the chasm and she gasped, turning her head against Kili's shoulder and clenching her eyes tightly shut. They were stroking themselves and shaking their tongues at her. And she realized suddenly that there were too many of them. Too, too many on that side of the chasm…and on this side: one man, one very ill and delirious dwarf, one lass, and one small boot knife.

At least there was a chasm between them.

Suddenly, the thing that had seemed such a danger was now their only protection.

In her arms, she felt Kili jerk upright.

"What?" she asked.

"The dragon..." he breathed, eyes staring at nothing. "They have him."

* * *

Fili could see the stars over the Mountain, a bright carpet of shining jewels in a clear midsummer night.

A bell had been brought to the lakeside to mark the hours. Some time ago, he'd heard the second bell past sunset.

The dragon's last hour.

Bofur and a couple of assistants finished walking the perimeter of the bones, drenching the dragon's remnants in flammable oil.

Fili could smell the sharp odor of the oil, almost as strong as the real dragon's odor had been.

A massive square of torches marked the perimeter.

"…like torches blazed with light," Fili said aloud.

Fjalar, next to him, looked up.

"Old line from a song," he said. And then he decided they had all waited long enough.

Fili, Son of Durin, King of Erebor, strode forward and turned to face his warriors and his people and the Kings of Dale and Gondor.

"This is Smaug," he cried. "Enemy of Erebor, of Dale, and of Laketown."

The crowd roared.

"I am told that his spirit lingers! That he would harm us still! To that, I say _never_!"

The crowd shouted, "Never!"

"I am told that we must destroy his very bones!"

"Destroy!"

"I ask you…shall I see this done?" Fili asked them.

More roaring. Cries of _yes_ and demands of _now_.

And Fili raised his Uncle's warhammer. "Du bekar!" he roared.

"Du bekar!" the crowd replied, on its feet, hands raised in the air. "Du bekar!"

Fili turned and charged forward, raising the mighty warhammer and taking one spinning swing, striking the bone between the eye socket and the ear, and the air resounded with an audible _crack _and shatter.

His fury unleashed, Fili swung again.

"_You have killed…" _he grunted, breaking through the hollow skull.

_"Enough of our people!"_ He swung overhand, chipping away at the bone above the eye.

_"And you cannot have…"_ He crushed through the side, obliterating the ear.

_"My brother!" _ Fili hacked at the bone, taking out the eye socket, bits flying across the snout.

He stopped and raised his hammer.

"Du bekar!" He roared into the night.

And the rest of the company surged forward, attacking the skull with death blows that they delivered over and over.

Fjalar and Gunz teamed up with hand-sized hammers to pound through a large rib bone.

Gimli stood next to his father, Gloin, and they raised their hammers together, smashing through the upper jaw as one.

Young King Bard went for the breastbone, pounding it as easily as he might chop wood, his face determined.

And Aragorn, as if he had the Sword of Elendil in his hands instead of a warhammer, sliced through the mighty fangs, knocking them loose and pounding them to dust.

But it was Fili, Son of Durin, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield, his uncle's great warhammer in his hands, who smashed the neck and shoved the crushed pieces of the head away.

He didn't hear the roaring of the crowd.

He didn't even hear the first warnings from the miners when they started clearing the warhammer crew.

He did feel Bofur's hand on his chest, stopping him and handing him a torch.

Fili, sweat pouring from his face, handed Thorin's warhammer to his son, to Fjalar, who took his stewardship seriously and bore the heavy weapon back to the sidelines with honor.

Fili held up the torch. If he expected cheers, he didn't get them now.

The grounds had become deathly quiet. In the night air, the bell tolled midnight, and everyone watched, holding their breath.

Fili faced the remains of the dragon one last time.

"Leave, worm, and never come back," he muttered. He threw the torch into the pile of broken bones and heard the whoosh of oil as it flamed.

And then Bofur was there, a large cask in his arms and a wicked grin on his face.

Fili glanced at the cask, read the warning branded on the side, and saw long fuse dangling.

He cursed.

"Fire in the hole!" Bofur shouted.

Fili turned and spotted his sons. Fjalar was up the slope, safely away, but Gunz stood near his cousin Gimli. Fili ran for him, scooping him up as Bofur pitched his cask straight into the remains of the great skull.

Everyone ran.

It was sheer luck that all had cleared the perimeter when the cask's fuse reached its limit.

A flash like lightning and then the following kaboom ripped through the air, reverberating off the stone.

Fili threw himself on the grassy verge west of the fire, checked that Gunz was unhurt, and together they looked back, eyes wide. Bofur's explosives sent white-hot arcs high into the sky, reflecting brightly on the lake water, and the bones actually glowed blue at the base. Fili suspected that last part was a gift of the mountain stone itself.

His heart racing, Fili felt Gunz clutching his shirt even as the lad looked up in wonder.

But what, Fili wondered, had this done to his brother?


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Lady Nÿr, healer and Daughter of Durin, shivered with fear. She couldn't help it. There were goblins, they were nasty, and only a twenty-foot wide chasm separated fifty of them from one healer lass, one very sick dwarf prince, and one man of Gondor.

Kili was still, eyes wide open in some kind of dragon-induced trance.

Nÿr felt the tension in his body as she kept her arms wrapped around his shoulders, sitting behind him.

Bruilan, the fearless man of Gondor, defended them like a growling wolf, a snarl on his face at the crude display before them.

But whatever Kili saw, it was not the same horror that was right in front of them.

Nÿr wondered how long they could hold out. Was it close to midnight? Was Fili burning the dragon bones even now?

The goblins across the open chasm were up to something new. A couple of them had boards and thin logs, extending them toward the ledge where Kili, Nÿr, and Bruilan crouched.

They had figured out that she was a lass, Nÿr knew. They wanted to get to her, intending rape.

One log the size of a tree was tipped toward them and smacked their little ledge of stone. She and Bruilan stared in disbelief. The wood had wedged against rock. Bruilan kicked at it, but it stuck tight.

One laughing goblin leapt out and balancing wildly, made it to the halfway point. Nÿr realized the log would hold and it would get to them…she still had Kili's bootknife, but what good was it?

Four more got up on the log to follow. The wood sagged as they overloaded it, then it cracked and broke, sending five of them to their deaths.

Given the length of their fading screeches, it was a very long drop.

"It's a good thing they're idiots," Bruilan growled.

Nÿr clutched Kili close—she did not want to see.

"Kili?" she whispered. "Can you sense the dragon?"

No response.

"Is Tauriel there? Is she free yet?"

"No…" he murmured.

And Nÿr wondered if he meant _no she isn't free_ or _no she isn't there_ and chided herself for asking two yes/no questions at the same time. Mahal, but she couldn't think straight.

Another log fell towards them, splinters flying at her as it hit their ledge. This time Bruilan kicked it away. Three more goblins who'd been clutching it were gone.

And then Nÿr saw that they were bringing a long, heavy tree-trunk slab of wood. Half of them were laboring at it and they made good progress.

Bruilan turned to look at her, his expression grim.

This time the goblins would succeed, Nÿr and Bruilan both knew. That slab would hold the weight of all fifty goblins, and there will be no kicking it away.

Nÿr put one hand on Kili's bootknife, finding it in her pocket. Across the chasm, a few stray goblins were displaying themselves again, as if she would be interested in their lack of proper endowment.

And chains. Some held up shackles and chains, rattling them.

Not for Kili, not for her beloved…she gripped him tighter, though he didn't notice. Whatever had latched onto his attention wasn't here in the goblin cave. _It's the dragon, _she realized. _It's trapped him..._

Nÿr knew it was just she and Bruilan now. She had the knife in her hand as the heavy slab was inched toward them across the open chasm, but Bruilan was the better fighter. She offered the little blade to him.

"No," he said. "Throwing's no good. And I couldn't fight past three or four." He looked at the chasm. "We can jump," he said.

Nÿr blinked. Certain death. It had advantages over uncertain torture and rape. She would do it in flash, but she couldn't bring Kili with her.

_And Mahal...I won't leave him._

"Can you free Kili's foot?" she asked. "Can you break the chain?"

Bruilan eyed the short chain. He knelt, tested the iron cuff around Kili's ankle, tugged on the thick chain, and then stood and stomped on it.

Kili seemed insensible to it.

"Dragon...fire," he murmured.

"I don't know what that means," Nÿr said to him, frantic. "Kili...stay with us!"

The goblin's log bridge was getting closer. Nÿr didn't understand what battle Kili fought, but she could see the battle right in front of them.

And it was a battle they would lose. And what happened to her was not as important, she knew, as what happened to Erebor's prince. They could not let Kili be taken back by the goblins.

Resolve hardened inside her. She looked at Bruilan, the knife in her hands. "I will kill him before I let them take him back." She was a healer. She knew what artery to cut for a quick death.

She had promised as much to his brother. _I can send him home to Aule's halls in peace...I would not let him suffer..._

Bruilan met her resolve with understanding. He did not offer a better solution.

The leading edge of the slab hit the stone of their narrow ledge.

Nÿr gasped, hearing it come out like a yelp. Bruilan kicked, braced himself against the back wall, and with the power of his long legs, pushed it back an inch or two.

The goblins pushed it forward and gained several inches.

Bruilan pushed back again, but it was not as far this time.

In her arms, Kili suddenly struggled as if he wanted to stand.

"No…" he murmured, then suddenly he became still.

Somewhere in the distance came the sound of a deep and powerful _kaboom_.

Everyone stopped, the cavern shook and became silent. Rock dust drifted past.

Nÿr blinked. "Kili?" she whispered.

Kili didn't answer.

* * *

Fili paled, staring at Bofur's explosion.

He felt it then, the dragon's spirit frantic to stay, like a scrabbling of claws on stone.

And a sense of his brother. Of Kili.

"Kili!" he shouted.

_Not leaving, _a voice said, more calm and more sure than Fili expected._ Just one thing to do…_

"Here!" he heard young Bard say, dropping to the ground next to him, Aragorn knelt more slowly, eyes on the roiling fire as he reached out a gentle hand to touch Gunz on the child's shoulder to reassure him.

Gunz just stared at his father. "Da?"

Aragorn's eyes went to Fili, full of concern. "What do you sense?"

"My brother…" Fili held Gunz closer, his wide, worried eyes looking up at the stars.

Aragorn's eyes followed, then closed, and then his brows drew together in concentration.

* * *

_Kili's spirit was jarred, as staggered as everything else by the mountain-shaking explosion. Oddly, he saw things in three places at once. He saw Fili and Gunz and King Elessar…of all people…and the crowd around the burning dragon bones. He saw Nÿr and the man, desperately defending him in the goblin cave, the goblins threatening to reach their place on the narrow ledge. _

_And he saw Tauriel in starlight, her eyes wide, her smile broad, and time seemed to suspend itself and stand still.  
_

_"Is the dragon gone?" he asked._

_He could feel her ecstasy. "Of course he's gone!" Her voice was louder now, joyous, as if they really stood beside each other. "That blast—it worked! It broke his hold and thrust him away before he knew what was happening!"_

_"Truly? He's nowhere?"_

_"Gone…!" _

_Kili sensed Tauriel's spirit hopping in a little dance of celebration._

_"Gone into whatever void Morgoth's creatures go…" she said._

_Kili still felt like he couldn't quite add things up. "Is it like…did you know when Sauron fell?"_

_"Only a hint. The dragon was unsettled by it. I think he hoped for some kind of new life under Sauron's dark magic. I think he still hopes for it, wherever he is."_

_"Never gonna happen. Not if I can help it."_

_"Not if we both can help it."_

_"Yes." _

_Kili had a sense of stillness then, of them facing each other in mutual respect, warrior to warrior._

_"We were lovers once," she said._

_"Once. One time." _

_"I could have made it a lifetime," she admitted._

_Kili felt himself half smile. "It would not have been easy."_

_"I would not have cared," she said, her tone airy._

_He was older now. She would have cared, he thought, had they been so bold. But that line of thinking was pointless, given how things had gone._

_"Can you see the stars?" he asked._

_"I can…!" _

_He sensed her overwhelming joy…catching a glimpse of what it was like to be an elf and rejoice in trees and stars and growing things._

_Kili preferred the earth. He reached for his innate sense of feet rooted in solid stone. Erebor stone. Yes._

_And then he sensed she was looking at Nÿr. "Tell me that you love her."_

_Kili didn't have to say it. He opened his heart to her spirit, his deep friendship and connection to the young healer apparent. "I do love her, more than I can say. She cares for our people. She keeps the earth below her feet." _

_Tauriel's spirit soared with approval and happiness. "Let her heal you. Marry her, have your babies. Live your life, Kili."_

_The calm of peace settled over them._

_Her voice was as a whisper in his ear. "This sweet moment with you doesn't make up for all the years he bound us, Kili. Let me go, and it will be all right. Let yourself be free of him."_

_"No…" But he wasn't sure what he was objecting to._

_"Boe i 'waen__, mellon. I must leave now, dear friend."_

_He felt her spirit hand slip away…and then it was if he was standing in the night, wind blowing the hair around his face. But he was not alone. He could sense the rock solid presence of his brother, ever there, ever near him, as if they could touch foreheads. _

_And then the King of Gondor, an almost holy presence, an aura of something like elf light around him._

_"Is the dragon gone?" The King of Gondor asked, his voice gentle with compassion._

_"Yes."_

_And then Fili, strong and loving. "And that was…?" _

_"Tauriel. He trapped her, Fee."_

_Kili sensed his brother's shock. "She is free now?" Fili asked._

_"Yes."_

_He could sense his brother's profound relief, his deep and abiding love.  
_

_"And you?" The King of Gondor asks. "Are you free?"_

_"I…think so." _

_"Go then," The King of Gondor commanded. "It is not healthy for you to linger in this place."_

_And Kili had a strong sense of a door firmly closing and time speeding up again.  
_

* * *

Kili heard goblin voices and struggled to sit up. _Mahal_…soreness, pain, the red haze of morgul fever…

He felt Nÿr's arms around him and grabbed her hand.

"Dragon's gone," he said, hoarse.

Somewhere, a goblin screeched.

Kili blinked. He had wakened to a battle.

He could see the alarmed face of an unarmed man, he could feel Nÿr shaking, holding tight to him. He wanted to stand, wanted to put himself in a better place to protect her...but he felt leaden, his arms and legs uncooperative.

Whump…arrows. Whump whump whump.

Goblins were hit, he saw one fall from a bridge…others fall from a ledge, screaming.

"Whose?" the man demands. "Those are not Erebor arrows…not Dale's."

And then slender feet in delicate green boots on the stone.

Kili looked up to see the tall form of an elf that he knew.

_Legolas._

* * *

Nÿr found herself dizzy with relief and numb in shock. Her very sense of things felt shattered and shaky. She only knew that elves had come, the goblins were dead, and dwarves were scouring the catacombs as thoroughly as they had cleared the Forest.

Bruilan—brave, loyal Bruilan—had carried Kili on his back across the heavy slab of the goblin bridge and all the way to the ivy covered wall back in the forest.

Someone else had carried Nÿr. The details were a blur, and the dark, early morning hours only added to Nÿr's sense of unreality.

Bruilan was begging leave to return to his Lord King. Kili lay, eyes closed, in the arms of a dwarf healer, one of the battalion's senior medics who checked him for broken bones.

And unexplainably, Skirfir was there, his arms around her, holding tight. She wanted to melt into him.

"I'll send the lad with her," she heard the bearded old dwarf medic saying. "Nothing's broken, and the lad knows them both. Has the King's trust."

"It's over, Nÿr," Skirfir's words reached her. "Over. Let me help you…"

"The manacles, Skirfir," she said to him, meaning the iron cuffs on Kili's wrists and ankles. "Get them off of him!"

She felt frantic about it even as she felt herself fading, falling…but not before she heard Skirfir say, "Yes, my lady."

* * *

The next thing Nÿr clearly recalled was she and Skirfir supporting Kili between them as they faced the Elvenking himself.

"Dwarves…children of Durin…" He bowed slightly, hand on heart. "Welcome. No one will harm you here."

In her confusion, Nÿr was not so sure. "We wish to return home. Please let us go."

"It is not safe in the woods at this time," said another elf. "We have brought you here. It's the closest refuge for now."

Nÿr turned, recognizing Legolas. She recalled him from his visit to Erebor with Gimli.

"My lord," another one says. "They are…" he was looking down his nose. "Rather filthy."

"Yes," the Elvenking said. "Take them to the healer hall." He waved a hand, looking away as if bored. "Bathed, fed, whatever's needful for our guests…"

Legolas took his leave and Nÿr's mind raced, trying to take in the foreign surroundings as they were escorted away and then left in an opulent chamber with food and a bathing pool, all of it lit softly by odd-looking oil lamps.

A shy female elf bowed and set out elven shirts, oversized for dwarves, and a pile of plush towels, pointing to modesty screens. She last set out a tray of what must be salves and ointments with bandages and other supplies.

Then she withdrew, eyes cast down.

Nÿr blinked. She and Kili and Skirfir appeared to have been left alone.

Elves.

Her turn of fortune seemed so drastic that Nÿr could barely make sense of it.

"_Mahal_, the bathing pool," Nÿr said into the silent room. "We need to clean him up." That, at least, made sense to her and spurred her into action.

Together, Nÿr and Skirfir eased Kili, awake but as stunned as she was—maybe more—onto a simple bench.

"Sweetheart," she murmured, her hand cradling his head, checking to see how hot his fever burned. His fingers found hers and they touched.

"I can move the screens," Skirfir offered.

Nÿr nodded. She did not care if Skirfir saw them unclothed. Dwarves generally had little modesty between each other, even lads and lasses. But she felt a definite squeamishness about disrobing where elves could see. She would find that humiliating.

As if she had a shred of dignity left after those last harrowing hours with the goblins.

But once the screens concealed them, Nÿr cast off her filthy, goblin contaminated things but needed Skirfir's help to strip Kili. He was tall for a dwarf, and easily outweighed her.

Together, they got him to the bathing pool and eased him into the pleasantly hot, clean water until all of them were in up to their necks.

Kili gasped, winced, and held his breath as water touched wounds, but he let them do it, his bleary eyes meeting hers. She thought she detected a bit of relief in his expression. _Oh, love. _She got an arm under his shoulders, helping him relax. She touched foreheads gently, and he turned toward, brows coming together.

He might have talked to her, she realized, if he didn't look so miserable.

Nÿr looked up to see Skirfir regarding them, worry and concern on his young face.

"Something tells me this was harder than you thought when you volunteered," Skirfir said, bracing Kili with his strong arms. Clearly he saw her bruises as well as he could see Kili's.

She nodded, acknowledging that she'd not been prepared for the reality of goblin cruelty.

"But I would do it again," she said, squeezing Kili's hand. "For my lord prince." Carefully, she used soft cloth to ease away the dirt and grime, revealing his wounds and bruises as she went. Her heart pained to see his injuries, but her training kept her focused. She could help make him better, and she would.

Someone discreetly took their soiled clothes…and a tray of fruits and nuts was slid forward.

Nÿr found this odd: the idea of eating while in a bath, and she was generally wary of elven food. But fruits and nuts of the earth were dwarvish enough, and having been without, she could see the economy of eating and bathing at the same time.

She selected a plump redberry and offered it to Kili.

He frowned and closed his mouth.

"You can't have eaten anything for three days," she said gently. "Your body needs the sugar, Kili."

His hand came up to take the berry and he gingerly tried a nibble, and then she realized his jaw was sore.

Mahal, she was so sore all over that she had to force herself to move. She could barely imagine how Kili felt, who'd been handled much more roughly and for more days than she had.

She looked over the elf offerings. Of course there were no utensils. Elves were just so…esoteric sometimes.

She grabbed a ceramic cup, used the base to smash berries to a pulp, scooped them into the cup and added clean water, which the elves did think to supply, and shook it up to make the fruit pulp drinkable.

He took it this time, swallowing all of it in a matter of moments.

He met her eyes, silently asking for more.

"Let's see if that settles before we overdo it," she cautioned. Gorging in his condition might just make him sicker.

And with Skirfir supporting him in the water, Nÿr set about a second cleaning of the dwarf and his wounds, this time using a cleansing soap that she recognized, and she used it liberally, even in his hair. To his credit, he was aware enough to half-heartedly help, scrubbing one forearm several times.

Skirfir helped him dunk, rinsing the soap from his head.

Luckily, the elven pool had a natural water supply and refreshed itself, carrying away the grime and the goblin filth, and Kili started looking more and more himself.

Nÿr settled him to soak in peace with Skirfir keeping watch, and then she unbraided her own thick hair and scrubbed it clean. If she never saw another goblin in her life, it would be completely fine with her.

"What happened with the dragon?" she heard Skirfir ask him. "We heard the boom."

"He's gone," Kili answered. His words still slurred, but his voice sounded less hoarse. He lay back in the water, his eyes closed, trusting Skirfir to keep his head above water. "Thank M'hal…"

Once out of the blessed water and dried off, Nÿr took time to asses Kili's wounds, and thankfully, he let her do it without fuss. There were infection-fighting salves among the things left by the elves, and she used them, though she elected not to cover his wounds with bandages for now. Clean air would aid his healing better.

What she really needed was something to break his fever.

But her heart sank as she looked over the medicines the elves had supplied. They might work if this was a normal fever, but she knew better. Kili's fever was tied to a curse, not a disease, and to make matters worse, it was showing itself at the wrong time of year.

She did find valerian root among the healing things, so she mixed another cup of berry pulp and water, adding a strong dose of powdered valerian. It would do nothing for the fever, but it would make him sleep, and that would help.

She found a suitably soft, dark colored shirt among the elven offerings and Skirfir helped get Kili's arms into the sleeves.

Overhead, an open skylight wedged between massive tree roots showed them the lightening sky. Outside, the sun was rising. They could hear birds in the elvenking's forest, and a raven landed on the edge, peering in curiously, angling his head left and right.

"Hello, young Corax," Nÿr said. "Glad to see you escaped the goblin caves as well." She picked up a tiny, choice nut from the food tray.

He was on her arm a moment later, grabbing the little nut and swallowing it whole.

"Message to the King, Corax."

He looked at her, expectant. She spelled out their status in simple terms. _Raven Prince safe, Elvenking's halls. Kingsfoil needed._

Corax bobbed. "To the King," she repeated. He bobbed again. "It's happy news, Corax," she crooned. "Fly fast. Good bird."

He helped himself to the nut tray.

"Cheeky bird," she shook her head.

He quorked softly and took off.

Nÿr could see another warm patch of sunlight at other end of the long room, positioned above a plush, round, couch-like bed. Together, she and Skirfir supported Kili to it, and eased him into the soft cushions. Nÿr curled up beside him, aware that Skirfir sat on Kili's other side, alert. He found a folded blanket and settled it over them.

"Sleep," Skirfir said. "I'll keep watch."

Kili's hand found hers. She looked at him, his eyes closed, head on a soft pillow, the age lines visible, a cut still red and harsh on his cheekbone. The valerian was taking hold, relaxing his expression into drowsiness.

She stroked his hand with her thumb, careful to avoid the torn up skin around his wrists.

The manacles were gone and he was safe with friends to watch over him. That was something, she thought, getting drowsy herself.

And the dragon was gone.

Smaug was finally dead. He would torment Kili no more.

It would do for now.

* * *

****Everybody's a bit shocky i**n this chapter, so I hope their POVs aren't too confused to follow...certainly they've been through a lot! Feeling a bit shell-shocked myself (LOL.) Feedback welcome-so feel free to leave a review or PM me... Mahal's blessings, big hug.** -Summer.****


	14. Chapter 14

****The ideas about the origin of Thranduil's halls **are not mine, but taken from other LOTR sites which speculate on the history of the elven kingdom. In the ROTK appendix, Erebor's founding year is cited as 1999, under the reign of Thrain I. The online Encyclopedia of Arda suggests that Thranduil built his halls much later, in the third age, with the help of the dwarves. That's the source for my history, as Fili is about to tell Aragorn...** Enjoy!****

* * *

**Chapter 14**

Fili, King under the Mountain, was on the lakeshore at sunrise, getting a look at what was left of the dragon bones.

"I'm surprised the bones aren't scattered from here to Dale," young Bard said. "That was the oddest blasting powder I've ever seen."

Fili's boots crunched in the black soot. "Wasn't blasting powder, really."

Aragorn and Bard both looked at him.

"The white sparks—that's magnesium…and there were a few other elements mixed in. That kind of thing doesn't explode so much as it vaporizes." He made a gesture with his hands as if to say _poof_. "Though I'm fairly surprised that Bofur knew how to combine that mix. It's got very limited applications. Deadly inside a mine."

But Aragorn was grinning. "But no doubt suitable for use on Dragons and other dark creatures of Morgoth?"

Fili laughed. "Something like that, but I'm not going to argue with the results. Seems our dragon spirit has gone."

"Is it enough?" Bard asked, looking up the slope toward Dale, toward his own small kingdom. "Are we sure it can't return?"

Aragorn was shaking his head. "A fell spirit like that requires a locus. In this case, it had latched onto its own remains lying undisturbed under the lake. I think, lads, that we have taken care of that."

"I, for one, was glad to disturb him." Bard's smile was grim.

A call went up from the perimeter guard. Fili raised his head to see an archer pointing to the sky.

"Raven," he said, walking a few feet away and raising his arm.

Bard, of course, had been watching ravenspeakers his entire life.

But for Aragorn, this was a first. "What is this?" he asked.

Fili looked slightly embarrassed. "Erebor hosts an unusual flock of ravens," he said.

Aragorn's eyebrows shot up. "I've heard stories, but…" He looked up, wide eyed, spotting the large corvid descending in a wide circle.

Bard chuckled. "But never really believed them?" He nodded to the incoming bird. "See it in action." Both men stood and watched.

The raven glided in, feet outstretched, and pulled up in time to land lightly on Fili's arm, covered, as always, with his raven gauntlet.

"Welcome young Corax," Fili said. Aragorn and Bard, of course, could hear his words but not the bird's.

Corax fluffed himself. "Safe! Safe!" he quorked loudly, exuberant.

"Whoa," Fili said, a little amused by the bird's exuberance. "Shhh," he crooned. "Do you have a message for me?"

Corax ducked and waggled his beak. "Raven Prince safe. Elvenking's halls. Kingsfoil needed."

"Did you see Raven Prince?"

Corax bobbed. "Hen-hen. Hen-hen. Hen-hen and Raven Prince."

"They were together?"

"Yes. Had nuts." He made clicking sounds as if wondering whether Fili would have some.

"Was Raven Prince awake? Did he talk to you?"

Corax pinned Fili with a beady eye. Fili wondered if the concepts were too complex for the bird, but then Corax made a low rattle sound. "Put in bird box. Dark quiet, dark quiet." He shook his head.

Fili frowned, then caught the reference. "Resting? Like in a box resting?"

Corax went still, then made the low rattle sound again.

"I take it he's not well, then. Which is why kingsfoil is needed…"

Corax quorked loudly. "Elvenking's halls. Kingsfoil needed."

Fili nodded. A flight that distance had been long. It was a wonder that the bird recalled as much as he did.

"Good bird, Corax," he murmured. "Fine bird."

Corax stood tall, eying Bard and Aragorn.

"Would you like to meet a new friend? Honored friend?"

Corax peeked around Fili's shoulder to look closer at Aragorn. When he didn't object, Fili turned and took a couple steps toward Gondor's King.

"This is Corax," he said quietly. "He's just come from Thranduil's Halls. Tells me Kili is there resting." He held the bird up for Aragorn to see.

"All I hear is bird sounds," Aragorn murmured.

"As far as we know, only someone with Durin's blood can understand them. And they're quite vain. I might suggest a formal greeting." Fili winked at Aragorn.

Aragorn took the hint. He made a polite bow, hand on heart. "_Nan alassëa tye-omentien_," he said. "I am happy to meet you."

Corax stood tall, almost as if posing. Fili smiled. "He's impressed." Then Corax crouched. "Lift your arm," he said quickly.

Aragorn did.

Corax hopped over to inspect him, testing the fittings on Aragorn's leather cloak and nibbling the braid trim.

Fili smiled and watched Aragorn's expression change from surprise to amusement.

"Nuts!" Corax demanded loudly, looking Aragorn up and down. "Nuts! Nuts!"

Fili laughed. "He's demanding treats." Fili scooped him off Aragorn's arm. "Let's move you on before you get too pushy with the visiting royalty." Corax wagged his head.

Fili pointed him towards ravenhill. "The food's up there, greedy pest. Go on, now." He lowered his arm, Corax angled his wings, and Fili launched him into the air. Corax made a beeline for ravenhill.

"What was his message?" Bard asked.

Fili looked west. "The message was from Nÿr, not Kili. She says they're safe at the Elvenking's Halls, but asks for kingsfoil."

Aragorn looked up sharply. "_Athelas_? Why send a message? I'm sure the elves have a supply."

The three of them stood in silence.

"You need to tell him, my Lord," Bard said quietly. "I'm pretty sure the secret's safe with Gondor's King."

Fili's brows rose, his expression bleak. After a moment he looked at Aragorn. "Elrond taught me how to spell Kingsfoil the year after we took back Erebor."

Aragorn's expression showed his surprise, but he did not speak.

"I could never do it in the elvish," Fili admitted. "But in ancient dwarvish, my kingsfoil spell can do its job."

"That is the cure for black breath," Aragorn whispered.

Fili regarded him. "Or a morgul wound."

Aragorn paled, his eyes meeting Fili's with sudden understanding. "Your brother?"

Fili looked away. "He was made a target of Sauron's forces on our escape from Mirkwood to Laketown, all those years ago. Arrow. Just above the knee. We didn't know—treated it on the run. By the time we got to Laketown he was fevered and ill. It was Durin's Day. My uncle and the company departed Laketown to take back Erebor, and he left Kili behind. He was too sick."

Aragorn looked stricken. "You stayed with him," he guessed.

Fili nodded. "We almost lost him. Would have lost him…but an elf, Tauriel the Elf, in fact." He stopped.

"The same elf caught by the dragon spirit?" Aragorn asked.

Fili nodded. "She healed him with _athelas_, using the healing spell."

"Your brother was lucky."

"Tauriel was not. The dragon attacked, she helped Bard aim the black arrow that brought him down."

"Right on top of Laketown," Aragorn finished. "And when she perished in body, the dragon trapped her in spirit."

Fili regarded the man and nodded. "And exactly one year later we learned the truth about morgul wounds. That they never really heal, that they're a poison in the blood that never leaves. He is ill again every year on Durin's Day. It's a horrible thing." He was quiet a moment. "I hoped that when the dark lord fell that it would be over." Fili swallowed hard and went on. "But the people of Middle Earth are free and my brother is not. This last year was the worst. Now I know why."

"The dragon could see him when he was fevered."

Fili nodded, unable to go on.

"And Dale has known this?" Aragorn looked at Bard.

"The basics. My great-grandfather, my namesake in fact, was there in Laketown. The healing happened in his house... right before the dragon destroyed it. Gandalf always swore us to secrecy on the matter. He feared what the dark lord could do through Kili if he ever knew."

Aragorn's face hardened, and he looked up at the mountain, a powerfully magicked chunk of stone. "He could have worked great evil through the power of Erebor." He regarded Fili again. "And no one understands the true effort your kingdom gave by holding fast these lands." Aragorn reached for Fili's arm, his touch full of empathy. "But I am beginning to see it. By your strength did the rest of us succeed." He inclined his head. "I would give you any gift in thanks, my lord."

Fili was taken aback, a little embarrassed. "All I want," he looked the King of Gondor in the eye. "Is my brother."

* * *

Kili did not dream. He slept soundlessly, but he did wake several times. He did not normally sleep in the daytime hours, and even as exhausted as he was, he kept waking. He decided that his internal sense of time was just trying to assert itself. He did not consider that the last few days had taken their toll, leaving his mind unsettled and anxious, as if unable to stop being on constant alert.

The first few times he woke, he reassured himself that Nÿr was close, curled up on his right, and he looked for Skirfir on guard to his left, and then fell immediately back to sleep.

Somewhere around the fifth time, he realized Skirfir had been talking.

Kili raised his head, cringed at the pain of it, then realized there had been an elf by to check on them. Not a threat. Nothing for concern.

He lay back down, glancing at Skirfir, who stared after the elf maiden with a look of wide-eyed fascination.

Kili smiled slowly. "Ah, lad. I know that look," he murmured.

Skirfir turned to him, alarmed, then chagrined. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said.

Kili waved a lazy hand. "It's all right." He watched Skirfir look back in the direction of the maiden. "The heart knows what the heart wants, Skirf. No shame in that."

"They're just..." Skirf struggled with his words.

"All high cheekbones and creamy skin," Kili mumbled.

Skirfir looked at him, then nodded. "Yeah..." His eyes went back to the place where he'd last seen the elf maid.

Kili smiled again, wondering what it would be like to be that young again and innocent of the consequences. He shifted slightly, bit back a groan at the all-over aches, and reached for Nÿr's hand. Himself, he was done with elves. Too much flashy, high energy. Nope. He wanted the calm serenity of his Lady healer…craved it, in fact. He turned his face toward her, thinking he would pull her close and hold tight. But he couldn't quite muster the energy, and a minute later he was back asleep.

* * *

Fili and Aragorn were once again aboard a fast sailing barque, bound for Esgaroth with an additional passenger. Nama, his lady wife's bodyguard, who sat on the foredeck flirting shamelessly with a dwarf cargo master.

An was safe deep inside the mountain, of course. She'd apparently watched his dragon fire from the ledge outside the family annex and been horrified to think her husband and older sons had perished.

She had nearly flayed him alive when they'd returned to their quarters, in fact. She didn't settle until he explained the whole thing at least four times, kissed her long, and proven no harm to his virility.

Now he was bound for the Elvenking's halls. It would take less than an hour to get there, in fact, and then a short ride on horseback to Thranduil's Halls on the Forest River.

"Explain to me the limits of the rock," Aragorn said as they stood on the rail, looking at the great Forest.

Fili knew he was just trying to understand all aspects of the problem. Dragon spirit, gone. Morgul wound, noted. Protection by mountain, curious.

"It was Gandalf," Fili said, "who told us that Kili's curse meant he could be taken by wraiths," Fili said. "That the curse would draw evil things to him and he could become a dwimmerwraith. We tested it," Fili admitted. "Once. We believed him after that."

Aragorn nodded. "Having been pursued by the Nine most of my life, I can sympathize."

"The lands of Erebor protect him."

"How is he safe now? He is in Thranduil's kingdom but you don't seem worried."

"I'm plenty worried," Fili's eyebrows went up. "If he was this far from the Mountain to the north, he would be in trouble. But going west, he is fairly safe." Fili pointed back at the Mountain. "We can see the stone exposed on the peak. But the same rock extends under the surface for a great distance to the west, all the way to the Forest River and a little beyond."

"Ah," Aragorn nodded. "So he is safe in Thranduil's Halls." After a moment Aragorn frowned. "Does Thranduil know he parked himself on Erebor stone?"

Fili laughed. "Of course he does. Dwarves helped him carve out those halls hundreds of years ago, and it would have been Durin's folk from Erebor who did it. The craft was called stonespelling in the old time, though we call it stonesinging today. Most of the skills are long forgotten. My mother, actually," Fili smiled at Aragorn. "Had the talent. She made talismans with it." He laughed. "If my uncle had truly understood the potential, he would have sent her into Thranduil's halls to undo the bridgeworks. Thankfully, Thorin never made the connection."

"But you did," Aragorn said.

Fili shook his head. "Gandalf did. Not me." After a moment, his expression sobered. "If Nÿr asked for kingsfoil, she must believe Kili's morgul fever has returned. But it is not Durin's Day." He looked across the water toward the Forest. "I'm not surprised. We have been hearing rumors all spring about something new the goblins were planning. Some thing they would try to use against Kili to make him worse." Fili looked at Aragorn, his face sad. "I hope you can help," he said. "But I can not say what we will find."

"You fear that we are already too late?"

Fili shook his head. "I don't know."

Aragorn was thoughtful. "When I felt your brother's spirit last night, it felt strong. Very strong."

Fili met his eyes, unable to mask his worry.

Aragorn put his hand on Fili's shoulder. "He was attacked by spiders when this started…and spider venom is the base of morgul poision. Let's see what we have before we lose hope."

* * *

Nÿr woke when an elf attendant shook her gently and offered an oversized shirt as a robe.

"They want you to dress," Skirfir said. He was wary, his long hunting knife in his hand. "We must be getting a visitor."

Kili winced and sat up, but no one handed him an extra shirt.

And then Fili was there, pushing back the privacy curtains at the door and spotting his brother.

Nÿr understood now, and stepped away, giving her King room to see his brother. Skirfir held his blade down, tip pointed to the floor, and bowed his head as his King passed.

Fili went straight to where Kili sat on the bedding, kneeling and pulling him into a tight embrace.

Kili gasped. "Fee…" He got his arms around his brother and they pressed their foreheads together in silence, their hands touching each other's faces, cupping jaws.

Fili kissed his brother's forehead, long and slow, his eyes closed.

One of them sniffed.

Nÿr looked away to give them privacy, then realized another dwarf had come in with her King.

Nama, the Queen's bodyguard, who came to her with arms open, enfolding her in a sisterly embrace.

"Nÿr, thank Mahal…"

Nÿr allowed the touch, but could do nothing but stand still. She had been holding herself together just fine, she thought. But suddenly everything blurred.

Nama's eyes widened, she glanced at her King, then helped Nÿr to a quiet couch on the far side of the large room, well away from the lads.

Nÿr felt herself drawn against Nama's shoulder and the older lass kissed her hair.

"Let it out, lass." She said gently. "You can't help anyone if you're wound this tight."

Nÿr shook her head, denying any such need.

But neither could she draw breath.

"Tell me, lass. And just breathe."

Nÿr clenched her jaw, then gave in to Nama's warm embrace. "Nama," she whispered, realizing it came out in a sob, clutching the older warrior. "I almost killed him, Nama. I was this close…" She held a hand with thumb and finger an inch apart.

Nama didn't reply. She held Nÿr closer, stroked her hair. Shushed her while she fought the sobs and then just gave in to silent despair and cried.

"Tell me, then," Nama whispered. "Get it off your chest, sweetheart."

Nÿr explained, halting, through tears, about the goblins, about the chain that held Kili to the stone ledge, about the last resort plan: use the bootknife to cut an artery, see him die a natural death, and then jump.

"This close," Nÿr struggled to say. "It was this close." The tears came fast and hot now.

Nama had no soothing words, then. But she held Nÿr until the tears slowed, rocking her like a child.

"It would have been mercy," she said, finally, her own voice hoarse. "And it's a thing warriors do for each other, Nÿr." She made Nÿr look up. "They all know it. They do."

Nÿr searched the older warrior's eyes. Had Nama ever done such a thing? She couldn't ask.

"Yes, love. I have," Nama pulled her close. "And thank Mahal he stayed your hand and sent you help."

Nÿr closed her eyes tight.

Mahal. And an elf named Legolas.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Fili hated seeing his brother this way. _Mahal_…they'd both had battle wounds before. But this was different. These weren't battle injuries, this was prisoner abuse.

And it wasn't just the wounds he could see. Kili wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Kili," he murmured, arms around his brother. "You're safe now. We'll get you well enough to travel and I'll take you home."

Kili was shaking his head. "No. Not back to the mountain."

Fili felt that refusal like a knife in his heart. "Yes. Home. No one can hurt you there."

His brother was pushing him away. "No," he said more strongly. He struggled out of Fili's arms. "You can't."

Fili wasn't having it. He cupped his brother's face and held him still. "Kili," he said firmly. "Look at me."

But Kili would not. Fili clenched his jaw, noting the cut on his brother's cheekbone, seeing the flush of fever, feeling that Kili was quivering—from fever or something else, he couldn't say. Kili looked down and away, his expression shamed.

"Tell me why," he said. "Right now." It was his best big brother voice. "Out with it, Kee."

"The dragon…" Kili mumbled.

"Dragon's gone, Kili."

No reaction. "He can make me kill dwarves, Fili. Inside Erebor." Kili raised his hands, pressing the palms against his eyes. "His mind…my sword."

Fili was still. That was disturbing. He looked at Kili and considered what he said.

"Dragon's gone, Kili. Mahal damn the bastard." He pulled his brother back into a tight embrace. "And you're sick. Let's get you well, then we'll talk about the _katakhiger_ dragon." He leaned back and tilted Kili's face up. "Look at me," he commanded.

Kili finally opened his eyes and met his gaze, fearful.

"This is morgul fever. It messes with your head. Always has."

Kili looked bleak. He nodded.

"And listen. You will do something for me." Fili steeled himself. "There's a healer here. You will let him look at you."

Fili knew what the reaction would be, and sure enough, Kili struggled away. "No!" he was shaking his head, hands up to bat Fili away. Kili hated anyone seeing him when he was sick. Fili knew it was humiliating for him. He wasn't a freak for people to gawk at.

Fili let him bat. "Yes. Kili," he said, putting some anger in his voice and easily blocked Kili's hands. "You will do it. For me." He got a long look of sheer betrayal for that remark. "Dammit, Kee. It's Aragorn, the King. He knows what this is. Maybe he can really help…"

Kili sat back, got one foot under him as if he would stand and walk away.

But Fili knew he couldn't do it. He watched his brother struggle a moment, then cringe in pain, his body slumping. His eyes closed in surrender.

Fili cringed, too. He hated that this happened to his brother, his _nadadith._

"I'll stay right here," Fili tried to reassure him, getting one arm around his brother's shoulders. "I won't leave you," he promised. He looked toward the door and nodded to someone in the shadows.

Aragorn stepped forward, quiet. Fili realized the King knew how to approach a skittish patient.

The King stood back from them and bowed, hand on heart. "Aragorn, son of Arathorn, at your service," he said in a gentle voice.

Kili stared. Fili held his breath.

"I saw you," Kili whispered. "At the dragon fire…"

Fili raised his eyebrows. It was technically quite rude to just jump in to a conversation like that when someone had bowed their greeting. Aragorn didn't seem insulted, though. The sick were, thankfully, generally forgiven for social mis-steps.

A shy female elf set a tray of steaming water and _athelas_ leaves next to the King.

Aragorn nodded his thanks, then stepped closer, laying a gentle hand on Kili's shoulder.

"Eighty one years of battle with a dragon," he said softly. "Sons of Durin go big."

Kili didn't smile, but Fili thought he looked slightly less wary.

"Thank you for your help," Kili mumbled.

Aragorn gave one shake of his head. "You prevailed on your own. You have a strength the likes of which I've never seen." His smile was as gentle as his hand. "Had that dragon not been held here," Aragorn continued. "All our struggles would have failed…"

And as Fili watched, Aragorn poured the steaming water, crooned a few words, and crushed the athelas. The scent of clean, rich stone filled the air, tinged with the aroma of amber salt.

He didn't know what Kili smelled, but his brother's shivering stopped. Fili squeezed his hand.

Aragorn settled, blinking his eyes as if clearing them. Fili watched the King lay both hands on his brother's head, his touch light. Aragorn looked into Kili's eyes, turned his head to look at the cut, trace the dull bruise on his jaw.

He reached for Kili's hands, looking at his wrists, the skin torn and salved. "This is good treatment, but these are brutal wounds."

Kili looked ashamed now. Fili had the urge to shield him, but he held himself in check.

Aragorn's voice became quieter. "If you will allow me, my Lord Durin, I can chase the rest of that dragon from your mind."

Kili looked from Aragorn to Fili, silently asking if that were possible.

Fili nodded, trying to encourage him. He'd heard the long discussion with Thranduil, and he trusted Aragorn's knowledge and skill, learned from Elrond himself. He shifted, guiding Kili to lay flat.

Kili allowed it, exchanging nervous glances.

Once on his back, Kili closed his eyes, one hand gripping Fili's in worry.

Aragorn closed his eyes and murmured something in a very old language, much like Fili recalled of Gandalf's attempts at healing.

But then Aragorn shifted into regular speech. "Brave Son of Durin…out of suffering emerges the strongest souls…and though you are seared with scars, there is no shame in a good scar…"

As Fili watched, the bruises and the scabbed wounds were fading, not entirely, but significantly.

"It just means you are stronger than those who've tried to hurt you. Put to the test, strong Son of Durin, you did not fall apart."

Aragorn breathed deeply. "And neither is there shame in accepting comfort in your weakest moments."

Gripping his brother's hand, Fili could feel a flood of cool relief, a calming of the fever. And then something more, something stronger—as if Aragorn channeled the deep bond of their brotherhood, the love and sweetness of Nÿr, the unwavering and absolute loyalty of young Skirfir…

Kili's expression tightened in pain. He gasped, then said through clenched teeth, "My lord, my heart is willing…"

Aragorn nodded. "Then let go the curse and the hell of your last eighty-one years."

And in one last spasm of fever and pain, Kili cried out...and then he went completely limp.

* * *

Kili woke to the sound of gentle water and sunlight through stone and roots overhead.

Elvenking's Halls, he remembered. Pool of water, safe haven…

Nÿr lay curled up next to him, the firm shoulder of Skirfir at his back. They were both asleep.

He was almost surprised to be fully awake himself, actually. He felt a bit fuzzy brained, but oddly he also had a clarity of thought he hadn't known in some while.

And then Fili was there, arms folded, looking down at him with a silly grin.

"I come all this way, and here you are having some kind of…pillow fest…without me."

"Fee…"

Kili sat up, rising into his brother's arms.

"How do you feel?" Fili asked, hugging him close.

"Wrung out. Brain feels itchy."

"You say that every time. Do you think it's over?" Fili's voice was husky.

Kili pressed his head into his brother's solid embrace. "Mahal, I hope so."

* * *

****As always, drop me a note in the review box or PM me if so inclined. Always interested in reader reactions...!**  
**

Khuzdul words not defined in the text:

_katakhiger—_strongly reeking

_nadadith—_little brother


	16. Chapter 16

****Rated M** for the mildly mature/sweet content at the very end. Also, an all Kili POV chapter!

Someone asked if I planned to write more Fili/Kili stories: Yes. Two more in the hopper. After that...we'll see!****  
**

* * *

**Chapter 16**

Kili woke with his head resting against a familiar shoulder.  
_  
My brother is here._

It was a presence that had meant _safe and secure_ ever since Kili could remember. _Fee._ He breathed in his brother's scent…felt the soft fabric of his undershirt against his ear. After almost a week of spider poison, morgul fever, torture by a spirit dragon and survival inside a goblin fight ring, Kili wanted nothing more than the security of his brother and his friends. He'd been ready to die. Ready to kill himself, even.

But that was behind him, now. It was over. He'd been given sanctuary by the elves and healed of his fever.

He opened his eyes to see Fili dozing on top of the covers next to him, his jacket stripped off and feet bare.

"Where's Nÿr? Skirf?" He moved, realizing they were gone. Alarmed, he raised his head.

"Right here," Fili murmured. "Over there in that elfy water bath with Nama. I'm giving them a break."

Kili blinked, disoriented. He was unsure where the water bath was, but after a moment he heard Nama speaking softly. All right. All was well. Then he frowned and looked at his hands. He'd acquired bandages on his arm and wrists since he'd last been awake. He didn't remember getting them.

"Feeling better?" Fili asked. His hand touched Kili's forehead. "Don't feel as hot."

Kili thought about that. "I feel all right. Not much energy," Kili mumbled. That was an understatement. He was hollow. Completely gutted. "Why aren't we leaving?"

Fili chuckled softly. "Cause we're waiting on you. Ready to go home?"

Kili's heart fell. He couldn't. Not yet. It was too risky. He really didn't trust that he wouldn't just go on some kind of dragon-cursed rampage.

"No. Not home."

"You want to stay here?"

Kili wanted to say, _Curled up with my brother? Yes._ But he shook his head. "Mahal, no."

"You always were hard to please, you know that?"

Kili closed his eyes and actually smiled a little bit. Things could not be so bad if his brother was teasing him.

"Nama said we should put you in a bird box. I agree."

Kili scrunched his brow. "A…what?"

Fili laughed. He explained Fjalar's boxes for over-wrought ravens on hot days. "Nÿr agrees. And Nama and I think you both could use the time. So the next best thing to a bird box is Pine Creek camp."

Kili thought about that. Pine Creek. It was a secluded spot on the western slope where Fili took his kids in summer. A meadow, a fish stream…a clearing for a rustic camp. Well guarded by the Western Outpost.

"Sunshine?"

"You want sun? Plenty of sun."

"Can we go now?"

"As soon as you can sit on the back of my saddle for half a day."

"Hmmm..." Maybe he wasn't sure about that.

Fili snorted.

A flapping sound made Kili open his eyes again. A raven landed just inside the open skylight and looked around as if waiting for its eyes to adjust.

"King!" It quorked.

"Ahhh," Fili groaned. "You've made a mistake. I'm not that dwarf." But Fili sat up and gestured the bird over.

Kili watched him, but the bird noises grated on his senses and seemed over-loud. Oddly, he knew what the bird was saying, but he couldn't quite put the words into a sentence. Somewhere in his head he was still hearing goblin screeching and the shouted chants of the fight ring…

He blinked and shifted position, as if he could push that noise away.

Fili gave the raven a short boost to a chair. It eyed the skylight, then shot away. Kili saw his brother turn back to him, his expression changing from amused to somber as they looked at each other.

Fili knew he wasn't all right.

But his brother said nothing. He leaned back and got an arm around Kili's shoulders.

"Tomorrow," he murmured. "Let's see how you are tomorrow."

Kili closed his eyes and leaned against his brother's shoulder again. "Sure." It was enough that his brother was here, that he could rest his ear against his soft shirt and hear his breathing.

That was all he wanted, and he let it fill his senses.

* * *

It was the next day when Kili noticed Nama and his brother gathering their things. The elves had brought in a delivery of saddle bags and Fili handed them off to Nÿr.

Kili sat up, feeling groggy. He looked at Nÿr, wondering what she had.

"Travel clothes," she said, shaking out a shirt Kili recognized from home. "Lady An must have sent them."

"We're going now," Fili said, walking over to give Kili a hand up. "It's early, we have all day to travel, and half the western outpost's battalion is standing down and heading back, so we'll have an escort."

Kili looked up, concerned. He really had no desire for a jaunt with warrior lads. They would just stare and feel sorry for him.

Fili helped him to a nearby bench, cupped his face between his hands long enough to get a look at him. "Don't worry. They'll keep their distance. You won't even know they're out there." He glanced at the wound on Kili's cheekbone and nodded. "Let me check the ponies, and then I'll be back for you." And then he was gone.

Kili blinked in his wake. How did he have that much energy? Nÿr handed him a cup of bark tea, the wake-up kind, and left him to dress himself.

_I must be getting a little better_, Kili decided. They weren't trying to do everything anymore. Last night he'd had a nice soak in that water bath and fresh salves and dressings. He flexed his hands, testing the wrappings. Not too tight.

"Keep them on," Nÿr said. "And keep the wounds clean." Her tone left no room for negotiation. Kili wasn't about to argue with her.

Dressed, washed, and two cups of bark tea later, Kili was as ready as he would get. He glanced around the elf palace, as they had taken to calling it, and then took the hand Nÿr offered. He wasn't ungrateful for the elves' help, but it was time to go.

Nÿr led him to an open door with morning sun streaming in.

Skirf walked beside them, hovering.

"I'm not going to fall over," he murmured, then stepped sideways to keep his balance.

Skirf raised an eyebrow at him. Kili took a deep breath. When Skirf offered an arm a few wobbles later, Kili took it, grateful for the help.

Fili met them at the top of a short flight of steps. His mountain pony, a sturdy grey fellow, was fitted with a modified light saddle made for carrying someone pillion, with Fili's swords in leather sheaths on either side of the withers.

Fili mounted, reached down for Kili's hand, and with a boost from Skirfir, Kili found himself up on the saddle behind his brother.

"Lean on me if you want," Fili told him, looking over his shoulder. "Can't have you falling off."

Kili nodded. He felt a little fuzzy-brained despite the bark tea. Everything still looked slightly unreal. He looked around for Nÿr.

"The lassies will be right behind us," Fili said. Kili turned to see Nama on a bay pony, and Nÿr mounting a piebald mare.

"You let me know if anyone needs a stop," Fili said to them. "Just give a shout."

And then Kili watched Skirfir mount up, a full quiver on his back, his bow over one shoulder.

"Let's go!" Fili called, and he clucked to his pony. They took an ambling pace set for long distance rather than speed.

Kili sat up for the first hour, doggedly trying to stay awake and alert. He liked the fresh air and tried to breathe it in and clear his head. They took a trail north into the Greenwood, keeping themselves on land known to have Erebor stone beneath. Then they forded the Forest River and climbed steadily east out of the Greenwood and onto Erebor's western slope. The thick woodland gave way to the _montane_ of the upslope, to meadows and pines as the trail climbed slowly in elevation.

When they entered one grassy meadow, Kili got a full view of the mountain's great peak, tall and rugged in front of them, still draped in glacial ice at the top.

_Home._ Kili tested his feelings. Nothing murderous was welling up inside him, nothing felt like the dragon's claim on his mind and swordhand was anything more than boasting and threats. Kili felt some tension leave his shoulders at that. Maybe Fili was right. Maybe he would be fine.

By the second hour, Kili felt himself fading. He raised the hood on his cloak to keep the hot sun off his head, and then gave in and wrapped his arms around his brother's waist. Fili pulled them tight, gripping his hand, and Kili let himself drowse against Fili's back.

_My brother. Safe with my brother._

Kili woke when they stopped at a spring outfitted with water troughs, sometime around mid-day. Fili made him wait until Skirf was there to ease him down off the pony. With Nÿr's help, they took him to a soft mat of pine needles and spread a blanket, letting him lay down to drowse a while. Kili didn't sleep, but it felt good to stretch out. He closed his eyes and his mind drifted. He listened to the light breeze in the pine needles, a gentle whooshing that rose and fell as if the whole mountain breathed.

Nÿr brought him cool water and a meat roll.

"Meat!" he sat up, gratefully. After nothing but elf food, a real meat roll was a treat. It was still hot, even.

"The battalion's cooks sent these over." She had one herself.

Kili wolfed his down and licked his fingers. He looked up to see Nÿr smiling in amusement as she handed over a second one.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed. He also took the cloth napkin she offered and reminded himself to mind his manners a little better.

She laughed a little. "I'm just glad you have an appetite!"

Across the little clearing, they saw Skirfir tending the ponies, making the rounds with his hoof pick. Nama was filling water skins at the spring's brass spigot. Fili stood to the side, speaking to one of the battalion's outriders. As they watched, the outrider saluted, then clucked to his pony and trotted away. Fili turned and walked toward their resting place.

"No sign of spiders for the past week. Word from Dwalin is no goblins, either."

Kili nodded. "Spiders," he said. That was how this whole thing had started. "How did they even end up on the western slope? Someone brought them here?"

Fili glowered. "That's the current thinking. Goblins probably rounded them up from somewhere deeper in the forest and herded them in. Now we know that can be done, we'll be more on guard for it. Aragorn got Thranduil to promise more diligence. Legolas says his father gets distracted and loses track of time." He frowned, as if not sympathetic to that excuse. "But he also says he put his father's captains on notice."

Kili frowned. He vaguely recalled that Gondor's King had paid a visit. Three...no, four days ago?

"How long until we get to our camp?" Nÿr asked. "I've never been there."

"Another two hours, I think." Fili pointed north east and squinted at the sky. "That direction. Getting saddle sore already?"

Nÿr laughed. "Hardly. I've ridden out to the Blue Mountains and back," she reminded him. "I'm long past saddle sores. Not to say that I didn't walk really funny for two weeks of that first trip," she grinned.

Later, Kili didn't recall much more of their afternoon. Back on the pony, he'd leaned against his brother, listening to him review the battle with the spiders. He'd not cared what Fili said, he'd only liked the sound of his brother's voice. It assured him he was with dwarves and not with goblins, and he dozed.

He really only woke up again when they were there. Pine Creek. There were a few cozy tents, a cook fire, and more important, nothing but dwarf gear and solitude. No elves, no goblins…no dragons.

Nÿr guided him to a small tent, helped him dress for sleep, and settled him in a soft nest of thick blankets.

He spent the next few days blissfully drugged. Fili, he'd been told, had ridden back to Erebor.

Kili knew the softness of the bed, the strong, sweet presence of his beloved, and he spent hours watching the hypnotic patterns of leaf shadows on the tent cloth overhead.

He could smell the fragrant woods, the smoke from the wood fire, and he listened to bird chatter, though only the occasional raven. Mostly jays and chickadees.

In the evening, crickets.

Vaguely he heard someone giving a guard report to Nama. Here, then gone.

He heard Skirfir tending ponies.

He ate soup when Nÿr brought it, bathed when she brought him warm water, let her change his bandages when they needed changing. He slept when she brought valerian tea. He curled against her at night, overwhelmingly comforted to feel her safe at his side. And then one afternoon she removed the last of his bandages and declared him well on his way to recovery.

And the next morning, Fili was there again, bringing bark tea.

"I thought you might get up and go for a walk today," he said. "I have Gunz with me. There's a stream…lad wants to fish."

Kili let the bark tea spur him awake and as he dressed, he could hear Gunz's excited child voice. They ambled, Kili hand in hand with Nÿr, Fili and Gunz and Skirfir along, to a wide, shaded stream not far from camp. They stripped off boots, rolled up their pants, and waded, listening to Gunz chattering and asking a hundred questions.

Nÿr washed her hair in the stream and sat on a rock while it dried.

Kili napped in the dappled sunlight, listening to the rippling water in the stream. He found it soothing…and it seemed to wash the vivid color out of the horrible images in his memory, fading them to sketches, then dim lines. He watched Fili teaching Gunz and Skirfir to weave a fish trap, smiling as the lads fumbled with alder twigs. Gunz was a good student, he reflected. Quick to catch on.

Kili found himself, of course, completely distracted by Nÿr, who sat serenely in the sun, shaking out her sun-dried hair. It inspired him to get up, and he rose, going to sit behind her. He gently took the thick strands of hair from her, divided it into three sections, and wove the braid. Brave lass, his beloved. He kissed her shoulder.

She looked back at him, leaning so their lips touched gently, her hand finding his.

"I have something of yours," he said, pulling the carved raven from his pocket. Skirfir had visited him in his tent the day before and shyly handed it over, explaining that he'd seen her that morning all those days back when the archers had mustered on the western terrace.

Kili put it in her hand.

She looked at it and smiled. "You know, I gave it to him because I wanted him to survive. He was so guilty, Kili. He thought he'd failed you…" Her eyes were suddenly moist. "I wanted him to know I trusted him to see you again and hand this back."

Kili smiled, closing her hand around it. "And he did. That was well done." He swallowed. "What happened wasn't Skirfir's fault. I told him that."

Then the sound of splashing and laughter made them turn in time to see Gunz fall face first into the water, the already soaked Skirfir pulling him up. They rejoined Fili, who laughed and shook his head at them, and then demonstrated how to pull the fish traps. The lads proudly lifted out a half dozen plump trout for dinner.

They walked back in the late afternoon, and Kili almost felt as though he'd never been gone. That the whole incident with the spiders and the goblins had happened years ago.

Almost. If he let it, it would come flooding back. But he was determined to keep it at arm's length.

When they returned to camp, Nÿr and the lads took the fish to Nama for cooking.

Fili pointed to the saddle racks and nudged him. "I brought you something," he said, leading Kili over to the open air shed. He pulled something long and heavy from his gear and turned to face him.

Kili recognized his sword.

Fili handed it over, firmly setting it in Kili's arms. "Try not to lose it again, eh?"

Kili blinked, a little stunned. His sword! "I…thought it'd been lost to the goblins."

"Nah," Fili said. "Skirfir tried to defend you but couldn't hang onto it. We found it in the dirt at the pinnacles." He looked over Kili's shoulder and raised his voice. "Skirfir!"

Skirfir trotted over, bowing his head in respect.

Fili reached into his gear and pulled out a second sheathed blade, handing Skirfir a short sword, plainer, but not unlike Kili's.

Kili raised an eyebrow, noting the swordsmith's mark: it was Thorin's make.

"For my brother's life," Fili said, putting it firmly in Skirfir's hands.

Skirfir paled, and the weight of it made his eyes go wide. "My Lord…" he started to object.

Fili held up a hand to stop his words. "I expect you to learn how to keep hold of it in a fight," he said sternly. He eyed Skirfir, then hooked his thumb at Kili. "And start by getting him back in fighting trim."

Skirfir, though out of uniform, pulled himself to attention. There was only one answer when your King gave you an order and a gift. "Yes, sir," he breathed. "Thank you, sir."

Across the camp, Fili's eyes were drawn to someone else. Kili looked. Gunz was halfway up a tree and now appeared stuck. Fili made an exasperated snort, nodded to Kili and Skirf, and headed off to rescue his errant child.

Skirfir and Kili looked at each other. "Guess we have our orders," Kili smiled, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Hope you don't mind."

Skirfir was grinning like a crazy lad. "The honor," he said, with a head bow. "Will be all mine." Skirfir pulled the blade from the scabbard, eyes wide at the folded steel and the finely honed edge.

The lad, Kili reflected, just might make an awesome swordmaster someday.

They ate fresh fire-roasted trout for dinner. Gunz kept the conversation light and funny, and Kili found he was suddenly far more aware of Nÿr's fresh-faced smile and how beautiful she was when she laughed. But after dinner she took Nama off to treat a patch of nettle rash that the older lass had blooming on her arm.

Skirfir excused himself to check on the ponies.

Fili stood to put a last log on the campfire. Gunz was curled up, asleep.

"I'll head out with Gunz early tomorrow," he said, turning to Kili. "Two weeks from now, we host King Elessar's state visit." He looked Kili in the eye. "You should be there. You and Nÿr."

Kili nodded. He stood, looking down at his sword, resting against a log beside him. "Bit tricky of you, bringing Gunz along. You're testing me."

Fili raised his eyebrows. "I was letting you test yourself."

Kili felt himself pulled into an embrace until they were touching foreheads.

"Did you pass?" Fili asked.

Kili smiled. His brother was a wiley one. He nodded. "I think so," he said. "Yes."

Fili pulled him into a tighter hug, then let go. "I'll see you at home, then." He crouched, gathered his young son in his arms, and stood. "But right now, it's time to get this lad into bed," he smiled.

Kili nodded and reached out to gently stroke Gunz's head. He was mightily relieved that he'd had not a twinge of dragon-induced urge to harm anyone. "Safe travels on your way home," he said.

Nÿr came toward him as Fili left. She picked up her shawl from the place she'd left it and winked, heading for their tent.

Kili raised an eyebrow and followed.

Inside, they stripped down to light underthings for sleeping in the summer warmth. He sat on the blankets, ready to stretch out and rest.

But before he lay back she sat right in front of him and pulled him close.

He smiled. He loved her spontaneous side. He put his arms gently around her.

"Sweetheart…" he murmured. He couldn't say what he thought about her coming to his rescue. He was both horrified and proud that she'd done it. But he could kiss her, his lips finding that place between her collarbone and shoulder.

Her lips found his ear, her hand gentle on the back of his neck. He raised his head and their lips touched, and then they went deep into each other, kissing with a hungry, slow passion. He helped her pull the camisole over her head, letting it fall aside. She urged him back and he rested against his pillow. His fingers barely touched her beautiful, bare skin, and he breathed her in—the scent of woodrose in her hair.

_This is right. This is everything. _

He surrendered to her with all his heart when she straddled his hips. When it was over, she collapsed onto his chest, their heartbeats slowing as the serenity of mutual release settled in.

"My love…" she murmured, nuzzling against his jaw. "I missed you."

He reached up, cradling her head lightly against him.

"I missed you too," he said, his voice husky. He kissed her forehead. "Tell me you love me?" He meant it as a lighthearted joke, but he also wanted to hear it.

"Always. Of course I love you," she laughed softly, running one hand along his arm, finding his hand and gently cupping it. "Silly lad."

He smiled. "I love you, too," he mumbled.

They were quiet, just glad to be alone and together and safe.

"I wonder," he said finally, in a sleepy voice, "If we shouldn't just go home and do this in our own bed."

* * *

****Author note:** If you didn't already know, I have a Pinterest board with art prompts from all the fab fanart that is out there (non-slash). Just google "summer alden pinterest" and you'll see it. It's the Durin's Day board. (And don't worry, Summer Alden is an alias.)

Once again, huge thanks to those of you who have been reading. I'm honored to have your support and appreciate the notes, even if I am remiss in replying. And if you're a new follower, welcome!******


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Nÿr, healer trainee and Prince Kili's intended, was up at sunrise. Kili was right, she thought. They really ought to go find the comfort of their own bed. She liked their little nest in the tent here at Pine Creek camp, but while Kili's health was vastly improved, she woke up with soreness in her joints.

Kili looked at her with concern when she groaned.

"I know this is far softer than sleeping on bedrolls," she laughed. "But that big soft bed at home has turned me into quite a spoiled lass."

Kili offered a bracing shoulder rub, and then they were both were out saying goodbye to Fili and Gunz.

"Da says I get to ride my own pony," Gunz declared, pointing to the pair of ponies Skirfir had saddled up.

Kili smiled. "Strong lad like you, you're getting too big to sit in your Da's lap, don't you think?"

Gunz grinned. "I can walk and trot," he said, referring to his pony skills.

"Good lad," Kili said. "Be sure to walk, though. The slower Pumpkin here walks, the farther she'll take you."

Nÿr was surprised when Fili stopped in front of her, pulling his gloves on. "Anything you need?" he asked quietly. "I'll send someone down…"

Nÿr smiled. "I think we're fine. We're really quite well supplied here."

Fili nodded and took one step toward the ponies, then stopped and looked back. Oddly, he looked her in the eyes as if considering something.

"Thank you," he said. "For taking care of my brother." With a gentle hand on her shoulder, he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead.

Nÿr looked down, feeling heat in her face. "You don't have to thank me, my Lord."

"Nÿr?"

She looked up.

"You can stop calling me _lord_. One of these days I'll be your brother." His smile was kind, his lips curved with a hint of amusement.

She was definitely blushing now, though she didn't know why.

Fili smiled and pulled her into a quick hug.

"Are we going now, Da?" Gunz's voice sounded eager.

"All right, lad," Fili said, letting her go. "Just one more thing." He lifted his water skin strap over his head and walked across the camp to Nama, unscrewing the cap and topping it off from a barrel spigot. He exchanged a few words with the older lass, but Nÿr's attention went back to Kili.

Kili lifted Gunz into the saddle of the placid mare, checking the straps and adjusting the stirrup on the right while Skirfir adjusted the stirrup on the left.

"No kicking her sides," Kili cautioned. "Or poor Pumpkin will be sore and you'll have to walk home without her."

Gunz looked mindful, sitting careful and still. Nÿr winked at him and held out a small packet of honeybits, little pieces of candied honeycomb wrapped for travel. "In case you need them," she whispered. She knew they were the lad's favorite. He grinned at her and stuffed them in his new belt pouch.

Fili came around the pony to check on Gunz, and then he turned to hug his brother.

"Take care, _nadadith_. Get better. Come home."

"Safe journey, _nadad_. I'll be there soon."

* * *

Kili and Skirfir spent the rest of the morning in the camp's clearing, exercising with swords.

Nÿr had washed up, re-braided her hair, and joined Nama at the cookfire for a mug of tea at the rustic bench and table.

They watched the lads working; Kili was teaching Skirfir how to spin his new blade using a wrist motion.

"He's a master, your Kili," Nama observed. "_Moulinets _like that are the mark of very experienced combat warrior. Sharp blade, economy of movement…deadly as sin against goblins. And he can switch it up faster than I can follow."

Nÿr nodded. She admired his skill, but she almost didn't want to know the details. "Healers see all that a little differently, I'm afraid," she said.

Nama snorted. "I bet they do at that."

Nÿr sipped her tea. It was cooling quickly in the morning air.

"So tell me lass. What are you waiting for?"

"Waiting?"

"Courtship year. Why wait?"

Nÿr found herself blushing for the umpteenth time that morning. She set her tea down.

"Bit silly, I suppose. I spent three years in Ered Luin, came back here one week, met him the next," she said frankly. "It was all very sudden. The Queen came to me with an idea…they knew we had met. But they wanted Kili betrothed before he was pressured into a bad political match." She looked at her tea, then up at the older lass. "To be honest, I was a bit scared out of my wits, Nama. I barely knew him, and this was the _Queen_. I was in over my head."

Nama nodded.

"I was going to tell them no," Nÿr confessed. "I was trying to get brave enough to say it…and then that whole thing with the Slagheads…"

"He really lopped off a lord's head?"

Nÿr blinked. "The King?"

"Fili. Yeah."

Nÿr nodded. "I didn't see it happen, but there are plenty who did. Ask Kili. Or Dwalin."

"Huh. That one." Nama took a swig of tea and looked vexed.

Nÿr smiled. She had been wondering whether Beka would bring Dwalin and Nama together. She noted Nama's frown. Maybe not. Or maybe. Sometimes annoyance meant something other than annoyance, after all.

"So, go on," Nama prompted. Clearly she wasn't interested in the topic of Dwalin.

"Well…when Lady An pointed out that marriage law applies differently to Daughters of Durin, I finally agreed. I realized I could just call it off before it went too far."

Nama raised an eyebrow and tilted her head toward their tent. "I assume you changed your mind, lass," she grinned. "Or have you not examined the goods thoroughly enough by now?"

Nÿr wanted to melt. Of course it was obvious that her relationship with the Prince was not as chaste as publicly thought. But she didn't give in to embarrassment. She simply smiled and nodded. "I have, thank you."

Nama laughed. "Lass. You're in love," she said. "Anyone can see it, and he's a fine slice of red-blooded Durin pie. You're also lucky as Mahal's back tooth that he's still with us."

Nÿr could only agree to that last part. "Yes."

"Don't tell me you would call it off now."

"No. Of course not."

"Then get on with it, lass." Nama set her mug on the table with a soft thump.

Nÿr drew her brows together. "Nama, there's a contract. The entire silly King's council had to sign it…it stipulates a year, which is not up until next Durin's Day."

Nama leaned forward and looked her in the eye. "Lass," she said in a lowered voice. "Renegotiate it."

* * *

Nÿr and Kili had agreed: it was their last night at Pine Creek. It was a warm evening and they spooned in their pleasant little tent, covers kicked back. A nearly full moon lit the clear summer night so well that it cast moonshadows around their camp. They listened to the soft chirping of field crickets, and Nÿr found it calming. She had Kili's right hand in hers, massaging the tendons, testing to see if the healed wounds were bothered by the sword practice.

"I'm perfectly fine, sweetheart," he said sleepily, though he sounded amused. "I've been spinning _moulinets _since I was Gunz's age. It's the balance of the blade more than the hand anyway."

It reminded her that he'd been far too young when his uncle had walked him from his mother's halls to the cadet quarters, as the rite of passage was called, taking him when they had taken Fili. Both lads had been too young, really. Lady An had explained it once—that newly widowed, Lady Dis had become depressed and distant with her sons. And the pressures of the times…having just lost their father in battle, everyone knew the lads had to grow up fast and learn to fight.

It was no wonder the brothers relied on each other so closely for support. She tried to imagine a child as young as Gunz thrown into the rigors of battle training. He must have been frightened, even with his own kin near.

She stopped examining him like a healer and just held his hand. It was his right ankle that still bore the most damage, anyway. After a moment he slipped his hand out of her grip and ran it along her side, resting it on her hip.

It was just closeness tonight, not time for playful lovemaking. She loved that he needed this kind of intimacy in a way she'd never anticipated, though it had been plain enough to her after the first night in their secret study back in Erebor.

And she suddenly felt a deep welling of regret. She rolled over to pull him to her, loving the feel of her bare skin against his muscles. She'd been unfair, she realized, with this silly idea of waiting a year. It wasn't as if they were waiting anyway. It was a public sham, actually. They shared a bed and living quarters, all behind a wall of privacy provided by the royal suite's doors. Publicly, they maintained a ruse.

And there was a state visit coming up. She didn't think she could bear hearing Bard chiding Kili about it one more time, good natured or not. Kili didn't deserve it, and it was plain to her now that Kili bore the teasing for her sake. She alone could change that.

Except not alone.

"Kili…?"

"Hmmm?"

She explained her idea. "What do you want to do? Do you think we should just go ahead?"

He looked at her, blinking, his expression so serious. "It's your Choice, Nÿr," he murmured.

"Yes. Right answer according to all the traditions," she said. "But I think I'm done with the insanity of tradition, Kili. We almost lost each other. I almost lost you…" her voice wavered and things were looking blurry.

His hands were shaking as he reached up to stroke her cheek with his thumb. He was still more fragile than she was, even if he'd been up and about for two days.

"Can't it be our decision?" she asked softly. "It's not fair, this one-sidedness. All the tradition is just…" She took his hand to steady it. "Silly. Sweetheart..." she cupped his jaw. The cut on his face reminded her of how close a call his rescue had been. "Do you want to do this?"

"Yes," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "There's not a day since we met that I wouldn't have said yes."

They held each other then, a little frightened, but in close accord. It was a big step, Nÿr knew. But it was the right step.

* * *

They saddled up to ride home the next morning, Nama and Skirfir along with them.

Kili even called a raven for the first time since his rescue and sent it off to his brother. Nÿr noted the act as a benchmark in his recovery.

Corax had been lingering for the last two days, alternating cries for attention with begging displays. He'd spurned Nÿr's hand in favor of dogging Kili, who finally gave in. When Kili called him, Corax leapt to his arm, climbing up to his shoulder and nibbling his First Friend's jacket like a fledgling, demanding his head be scratched, and he'd been all too eager to take Raven Prince's message.

It was only an hour's ride to the main road up to the western terrace. From there, another hour of switchbacks. Kili rode well the first hour, but was drawn and tired by the time they reached the terrace.

They let Skirfir ride in first, then Nama, Kili and Nÿr. They had hoped to avoid public displays, but luck was not on their side.

At least Dwalin was there, meeting them in front of the watch commander's station.

Skirfir had dismounted quickly and stood ready to assist his Prince. Kili, at least, had sense enough to stay in his saddle as a crowd of soldiers and well-wishers applauded. He waved back, smiling in embarrassment.

But Nÿr sensed that Kili's tolerance for all the attention was very low. She could see it in the way he sat stiffly and in the way his expression tightened.

Dwalin wrapped his arms around her. "Lassie," he said, his voice quiet. "I've been very worried," he declared.

"I'm fine," she hugged him back. They'd become solid friends since his scare with a bad illness. He was ever her defender and supporter now. "Help me get him inside? Please? He's not as well as he looks," she murmured.

"By all means, Lass." Dwalin nodded once, then took charge. He thanked the crowd, making a gracious statement thanking everyone for their concerns. "Let us get him settled," he told them. "Needs a few days rest, I expect." He returned hand clasps, nodded in thanks, and generally held off the curious crowd.

Skirfir and Nÿr used his diversion to help Kili off the pony, and Nÿr realized Kili's ankle had swelled. He could barely stand on it.

"And it was the poor pony who did all the walking, love," she said, trying to keep things lighthearted.

"It's just the boots," Kili grimaced, unable to put much weight on his right leg.

"And maybe over-doing it with the swords yesterday?"

Skirfir looked guilty. Kili made a face that conceded her point.

And then Dwalin was there, his tall frame supporting Kili far better than she or Skirf could. And he made it look like a companionable arm around the shoulders more than a necessary assist.

They made it up to their rooms and once there, settled Kili into one of the leather chairs by the big wall of windows, his foot propped up with a pack of icy snow on it.

"Do you know where Councilor Dori is?" Nÿr asked Dwalin before he could leave.

Dwalin nodded. "He's down in Dale. Doesn't want to miss the royal arrival parade," he widened his eyes to show his opinion of Dori's eccentricities.

Nÿr frowned. "In that case…" she looked at her friend. "I wonder if I might ask a favor…"

* * *

Nÿr managed a quick bath and a change of clothes, and one hour later, she and Dwalin waited in the private foyer outside the King's Hall, next in line for the King's Audience.

Dwalin schooled himself to patience, listening as the King's business went on in the hall.

"Is he well, now?" Dwalin asked quietly. "I heard about the visit from King Elessar."

Nÿr took a deep breath. "I'm not sure we really know. Aragorn says the dragon is gone." She nodded. "I don't see any reason to disbelieve that. The effects of the spider poison have worn off, but he still tires easily, still gets a little disoriented."

Dwalin nodded.

"Mostly he's just recovering from flesh wounds," she said.

He reached out and took her hand. She smiled at him, grateful for the support.

Nÿr, of course, carefully avoided the topic of the fever, as she wasn't sure that even Dwalin really knew the truth about the morgul fever. And to her thinking, it was really far too soon to know whether the curse had worsened, stayed the same, or been broken.

She hoped to discuss further with Aragorn when he visited next week. She hoped there would be time.

And then they heard the clerk's strong voice announcing the next item.

"The Public Audience will now adjourn and reopen in private session." The clerk pounded his hammer. Mindful of protocol, the dwarves who'd been in attendance stood in groups of twos and threes and nodded to each other, filing slowly out to the great hall through the public entrance.

The underclerks cleared the chamber, the public doors were closed, and the clerk pounded his hammer once again.

"Call to order. Private Audience in Session," he droned on, listing the date and audience number. "The council calls Lord Dwalin and the Lady Nÿr."

Dwalin squeezed Nÿr's hand and they stood to enter.

Fili broke with decorum and stood. He met Nÿr several steps from the King's Chair and embraced her. "Everything all right? Is Kili with you?" he stood back, a questioning look on his face.

"Yes," Nÿr offered a curtsy. "He's upstairs with ice on his ankle. Skirf's with him. He's fine."

Fili looked from her to Dwalin.

Dwalin tilted his head as if to say, _just get on with it lad._

Fili raised his eyebrows, but returned to his place at the head of the audience table (he preferred not to sit the throne for simple audiences) and looked at the head clerk, nodding that the session should be documented. "We welcome our cousin, Lord Dwalin," he said. "We also welcome Prince Kili's intended the Lady Nÿr on her return to Erebor," Fili stated formally. "What matter do you bring forth?"

"A renegotiation," Dwalin stated.

Nÿr set her jaw and handed her petition to Dwalin.

Following protocol, Dwalin handed it to Fili. "In Councilor Dori's absence, I am acting as representative for my cousin, the Lady Nÿr," he bowed, hand on heart.

Fili read the petition. "Stamp it approved," he said, handing it off to his personal aide.

He looked at Nÿr. "Yes. We do it tomorrow."

Nÿr blinked at how fast that had been. He hadn't even asked for a basic justification. And..._tomorrow_?

But she wasn't complaining...she was just...Mahal!

Dwalin's eyes sparkled. "Congratulations, sweetheart," he took Nÿr's hands and bent for a quick kiss to her cheek. "And since Dori's gone," he tucked her hand on his arm. "I claim the right to escort you down the aisle."

Fili grinned.

Nÿr felt herself blushing again. "Thank you," she said to both of them. She let Fili wrap his arms around her and she found herself wiping an eye in sheer relief.

"You're welcome," Fili said. "But An's not going to thank you," Fili teased, his smile wider. "One day is very short notice for a royal wedding."

* * *

***Thanks so much for reading! For a quick one minute video of _moulinets_, google, "polish saber moulinets" to see trainer Richard Marsden demonstrating.**

**As always, drop me a note of feedback, even if you're coming to this story late! A note in the review or a PM works! A couple chapters to go...***


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Lady Nÿr walked from the King's Hall with old Dwalin, and she could hardly think. She had asked to change the marriage proposal between herself and the King's brother and to remove the one year courtship clause. And she had done it through the proper channels. The King had agreed.

But the King had also demanded that the wedding take place tomorrow.

Nÿr took the hand Dwalin offered as they climbed the stairs back to the royal suite. "I need your help" she said to him. "I need to convince Lady An to keep the wedding small," she looked at the older dwarf. "I have no family, Dwalin. And Kili really only has his brother and you for close kin."

Dwalin had agreed.

Lady An, of course, saw it differently. Had Fili been in the family quarters, he could have heard her objections for himself, and Dwalin was little help in the face of the Queen's shock. He instantly begged off, pointing at the door, citing the time, and saying something about his daughter.

"An, really…" Nÿr stood with her hand on her head, feeling exhausted by the Queen's railing. And the morning pony ride had done nothing for the soreness in her joints. "I have no father and brothers to do the honors in a big traditional ceremony. And Kili…his parents are also long dead."

And that was when Fili arrived, stripping off his royal cloak as he walked. Nÿr wondered if Dwalin had sent him up.

An turned on him. "What were you thinking? A wedding _tomorrow?_"

Fili's didn't rise to her temper. Instead, he smiled at her. He put both hands on his lady wife's shoulders, turned her around to face Nÿr, and spoke quietly in her ear. "Look at her, An. How many days do we have?"

Nÿr saw An lock eyes with her, and then the Queen gasped, her expression changing from frustration to surprise.

"So we do it now," Fili said, "Or we find a way to keep them a mile away from each other for the next month. And Mahal's luck with that."

An was silent as she reached for Nÿr's hands. "_Mahabrûf,_ sweetheart," she whispered. "You're in love…it'll be a different thing this time."

"_Maha_…?" Nÿr's brain went blank. The conditions for conceiving a child only came about every four or five years. _I'm a midwife_, she wanted to shout, almost stamping her foot._ I think I would know!_

But she had the symptoms that signaled impending ovulation. Soreness, lack of patience, and if An was looking at her eyes, the usual dilated pupils.

_Mahal. Everyone knows but me._

Fili raised his eyebrows, looked at his lady wife, and then made himself scarce.

"He has four children," An giggled and shrugged. "He's got quite an eye for it." She called for tea.

Nÿr looked in the direction Fili had gone, drawing breath. She didn't know whether to throw something or cry.

An got an arm around her. "All right, I agree. A small wedding. If for nothing more than to preserve your sanity." Tea arrived, An poured for her, and Nÿr sat, feeling stunned and trying to fully understand everything.

Dwalin arrived with his young daughter, Beka, who was the perfect foil for the stress.

"Ah, just in time for tea. Do you have cookies?" Dwalin asked.

Places were made at the table, and An's helpers did indeed bring cookies.

Beka sat, wide-eyed, nibbling a dark, sweet wafer.

Nÿr smiled at her. The lass had only recently come to live with her father, having been raised in the Iron Hills. She was near the age of Fjalar, the King's oldest son, and she was in her first year of warrior training. Dwalin seemed perfectly happy with her as she was, but Nÿr also knew he wondered if the lass would ever show her feminine side. She had a sudden desire to cajole Beka into a dress. Whether that was just her _mahabrûf_ blood speaking to her, Nÿr didn't know.

"Beka," she said. "I would like to borrow your father for my wedding. I don't remember mine, and I seem to be lacking one for the ceremony. What do you think?"

Beka looked at her father, then shrugged. "I think he wants to. It's all right with me."

Nÿr smiled. "Would you like to stand in as my little sister? I never had one of those, either."

Beka's eyes went wide. "What do I have to do?"

"Help me dress, hold my flowers." Nÿr tried to make it sound easy. "Help me go out and pick some off the mountain."

"I can do that," Beka said.

Next to her, old Dwalin smiled in admiration at them.

"And," Nÿr added. "We'll need to find you a dress that is something like mine."

Beka went still. "What are you wearing?" she asked suspiciously.

Nÿr looked at An. They hadn't discussed this. "I think, given the lack of time, a traditional _hanbok_ will do perfectly."

"Ah," Dwalin approved. "You were stunning last time I saw you wear one."

"Fjalar's ravenspeaker confirmation," An nodded. "We could certainly find one suitable by tomorrow."

"Do you know," Dwalin said. "That Lady Dís, the King's mother, was wed in a _hanbok_ that she'd personally fitted with pockets for her throwing knives?"

Oh, good job, Nÿr silently cheered. Dwalin certainly knew how to interest his daughter.

"Were you at her wedding?" Nÿr asked him.

"Indeed I was. It was a Hammer Ceremony. We didn't have much by way of means in those days."

"What's a Hammer Ceremony?" Beka asked.

"We are Erebor dwarves, Beka," Dwalin said. "Families fell apart in the dragon years, and the King's family was no exception. In those days, all you needed for a marriage was a hammer and a big enough space to form a circle of kin and kith."

"Why a hammer?" Beka was curious, and Nÿr found herself riveted by the exchange.

"Mahal's hammer," Dwalin said with reverence. "All it takes. Having an anvil is also handy, but I've seen it done with just the hammer. If you have an anvil, you can pound it as you go. Sort of a "forging the marriage" thing."

An stirred her tea, and Nÿr found herself interested in the idea. Though the hammer and forge analogy didn't get past her. Those words were also used to refer to the lad and lass part of making a child.

"How does it go?" An asked.

"Well," Dwalin said. "It's based on the old high marriage ceremonies. Those had lots of blustering and parading…and once everyone was in the appointed place, the bride's father would start things off by holding up a hammer." Dwalin raised his arm to mime holding a hammer over his head.

"What kind of hammer?" Beka asked.

"Any kind. For you," he said. "I'd hold a warhammer." He growled the word, making her laugh.

"That's the same in any ceremony," An said. "Mahal's hammer, stayed from destroying the dwarves by the grace of Eru. You know that story," she patted Beka's hand.

"For a Hammer wedding," Dwalin went on. "The father of the bride," he put his hand on his chest to show this would be his role. "Escorts the lass as her protector to the circle of kin of kith. He holds up the hammer, then pounds the anvil. He hands it to the kin, who circle the groom three times, showing that they've examined his loyalty."

Beka laughed. "He just has to stand there?"

Dwalin nodded. "He does, lassie. Then the kin pound the anvil and hand the hammer to the bride. She takes it and circles the lad three times, showing that she has considered him carefully and enters the marriage with a willing heart. If she approves him, she pounds the anvil."

"Because in Erebor, lasses can't be wed unless they want to," Beka said.

"That's right, lassie," Dwalin nodded. "And that's my job as your Da. To be sure it's your Choice."

"What does the lad do?" Beka asked.

"He takes the hammer from his bride, and now she has to stand while he circles her three times, to show he will protect her in honor."

"Then he pounds the anvil and passes the hammer to his brother, and that starts off the seven blessings. If you have enough kin and kith, you have one person do each blessing. Then there's the pledges and the rings, hand 'em a frothy pint to share their first drink…and it's done!"

Nÿr looked at An. "It's perfect. And you said Kili's mother was wed with this ceremony?"

Dwalin nodded. "She was."

An looked at Nÿr. "Is this what you want?"

Nÿr grabbed Dwalin's hand, then turned to Beka. "Yes. If you will be my father and my sister," she said. "I think we could do this." And unexplainably, the room was getting blurry.

* * *

Nÿr found Kili dozing on the Annex's open-air portico, his foot up. A mob of ravens decorated the pines on the hillside below the ledge, looking like an honor guard.

She bent to remove a pack of now-melted snow from his ankle and checked the swelling. While Kili had been their prisoner, the goblins had locked a rather cruel, spiked cuff around his ankle to anchor him to their fight ring. The gashes were deep and it was a wonder the tendons hadn't been severed—only the boot leather had prevented that.

She looked up to see Kili was awake, stretching and bleary-eyed in the tilt-back wooden chair. It was wide enough for two and he put a hand on the empty space beside him. She sat, welcoming his arm around her shoulder.

"Fili told me," he said. "He accepted your petition but wants…tomorrow?"

She leaned against his shoulder. "What do you think?"

"I think he's in a _strike while the iron is hot_ mood. But I won't let him push you if you're not ready."

"He was right about the hot part," she said.

Kili leaned toward her and kissed her hair. "He told me, love. He's quite a meddler sometimes, you know that?"

"I think he's putting us on notice."

"How so?"

"Either marry and have legitimate babies or separate ourselves for a month," she said.

"You got that message, too?" Kili snorted.

"And then Dwalin told me about your mother's Hammer Ceremony," she said. She gave him the bare-bones version.

"If you like it, I'm good," he said. "Let's just hope I can do it without a crutch."

* * *

The appointed place, at two o-clock the next day, was a seven sided balcony on the seventh level of Erebor, overlooking the central Hub. The design was simple: a raised dais in the center for the bride and groom, a circle below for kin, and an outer circle for friends. On one side of the dais, a shiny anvil.

The grandeur of Erebor's inner hub provided both the backdrop and the lighting.

Fili, as King, had posted the announcement that his brother the Prince would be wed that day in a private ceremony. The news, of course, spread like wildfire, but when the King said private, Erebor's people kept their curiosity at bay.

But when some folk noticed the subtle signs of activity on the seven-sided balcony, whispered excitement grew and the surrounding bridges and overlooks were suddenly gaining a curious but respectful audience.

Prince Kili was dressed in his formal dark blue robes and his prince's crown, and he arrived at the balcony with his brother, also in formal deep red robes and crown. Fjalar, the young prince, stood along with them, wearing a circlet for the first time and his father's colors in a simpler design.

It was Fjalar who realized that they had an audience.

At the same time, Kili was struck by the realization that not so many days ago, he'd been standing inside a goblin ring surrounded by filth and jeers.

And death.

Momentarily stunned by the flashback, Kili forced himself to look up.

_This is no goblin cave, _he told himself. _This is Erebor in all its beauty, these are our people, and I am home._ The differences were vast and wonderful.

"We should say hello," Fili murmured, nudging him.

Fili and Fjalar flanked him, and they faced the crowd together, stood tall, then bowed in unison. When they stood, Kili waved and smiled. Quiet applause broke out, but the impromptu crowd remained very much on its best behavior.

Kili watched the door to the preparation room nervously. Fjalar fidgeted. And just before he expected the processions to start, Fili turned to back to the people around them and smiled, raising a conspiratorial finger to his lips in a kind request that they keep it down.

The onlookers smiled and returned the gesture, obviously thrilled just to watch.

"How much longer until they're ready?" Kili worried.

Fili smiled. "Not much longer, I don't think."

Then one of the great doors opened and Bofur looked out at them, a hand drum tucked under one arm.

"Well, lads," he said. "Are you ready?"

* * *

**_Mahabrûf_** literally, "breeding." I have made up this concept but based it in available information gleaned from Tolkien and other LOTR sources. _Mahabrûf_ refers to the dwarven female fertility cycle, the rare time when conception is possible…generally a 2-3 week window of opportunity. Dwarves reproduce slowly and infrequently. A dwarf lass experiences _mahabrûf_ only once every 3-5 years, and then fewer than a dozen times in her life. As with any race, this is a time when hormones are at unusual levels and a lass may feel changes to her body (soreness) and her loved ones may notice hourly changes in her temperament. Some lasses welcome _mahabrûf_ as the promise of a child, others pass through the time in embarrassed dismay, sequestering themselves in privacy. Male dwarves are mystified by the cycle, but also quite irresistibly drawn to and protective of a lass in her "time," if she will even have them near. (Fili secretly calls this "broody mama time," btw. With a highly unusual family of four, Fili has cracked the code of the broody mama quite successfully. Wink.) In the case of young lovers, it is the perfect time for a honeymoon, and barring other complications, will generally result in a pregnancy as long as the lad is careful to stay on her good side and she consents to his attentions. Some lads have trouble with this part, being unable to set their egos aside and make her the focus. (Fili, however, has coached his little brother quite well in this department.) Once conception has occurred, the symptoms vanish. The pregnancy will last 20-24 months. Being vulnerable in pregnancy, dwarf women show few physical signs (no baby bump) until at least a year. Only the last 3-4 months result in obvious signs of the baby on the way. This is the time when dwarf women stay famously close to home. Why does it matter? Post-LOTR, low birth rates are the biggest threat to the survival of the dwarves as a race. So _mahabrûf_ is a serious and intimate family concern.

**_Dwarf Weddings_**_:_ Tolkien himself says almost nothing on the topic. However, I based the Hammer Ceremony *loosely* upon details in the Dwarrow Scholar's nice article, "Who's the Bride – Dwarven Marriage." (Google it.) That said, the Erebor dwarves would have lost many of their high traditions when their culture was disrupted by the dragon and by war, including the idea that dwarf lasses rarely left their halls. In a wandering society, they would have long abandoned those ideas. I also personally don't think the lasses would have stood for it. Seriously, dude. She will roll her eyes at all the blustering.

In addition, Kili is a Son of Durin, and I've speculated that their traditions are a bit different. The need for a show of wealth, for example, is fulfilled simply by holding the ceremony inside Erebor. Kili doesn't need to show off gems and precious metals when he has the entirety of Erebor at his back.

**_Hanbok:_** I just like the style of the traditional Korean Hanbok for dwarf women, and used it as the inspiration for the design of the old traditional dwarf gown…I realize most readers might prefer something Scandinavian or Germanic, but I like the simplicity and elegance of this style for a Daughter of Durin. And lacking a good neo-khuzdul word for gown, dress, or robe, decided to just use the Korean term _hanbok, _which sort of sounds dwarfy to me. Korean actress Lee Young Ae recently did a photo spread in the Korean version of Marie Claire that really caught my eye—the way she wears the modern _hanbok_ appealed to me as a look for Nÿr, whom I have always described as taller and less buxom than the average dwarf lass. I also like the linen texture.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Kili, Son of Durin and Prince of Erebor, had managed to remain unmarried for 158 years. He had also avoided an embarrassing number of suggested political matches.

But today he stood beside his brother and nephew, ready to marry the only dwarf lass who'd ever truly caught his eye.

And it helped that she was the only known Daughter of Durin of marriageable age—a distant cousin descended from a common great-great grandfather. A healer, a ravenspeaker, and a brave soul with a willing heart.

And he truly loved her. It was right. He was ready.

So he was standing in the center of a seven sided balcony on the seventh level of Erebor, a spot that overlooked the central Hub. The design was simple: a raised dais in the center for the bride and groom, a circle below for kin, and an outer circle for friends. On one side of the dais, a shiny anvil.

The grandeur of Erebor's inner hub provided both the backdrop and the lighting, and an impromptu crowd had gathered on the bridges and walkways around them just to watch.

There were even a few ravens clucking and rattling in excitement. At least three of them wore jesses made of ribbon. Kili looked at his young nephew, who grinned.

"Beka," Fjalar shrugged.

Kili raised an eyebrow. Beka couldn't call a raven on her own.

"All right," Fjalar admitted. "I helped. Corax practically insisted."

Outside the door of the preparation room, Bofur struck his hand drum and played a _call to ceremony_ rhythm.

Kili felt his stomach go hollow. It was time.

And then it started. Lord Gloin, their cousin and member of the King's Council, led a happy line of Durin kin from the private room out to the inner circle, and Fili and Fjalar stepped down to join them, leaving Kili to stand alone on the center dais. When Fili's son Gunz entered clutching the hand of his younger brother Hannar, the impromptu crowd murmured their approval. Lady An also garnered quiet admiration, dressed in an understated, traditional _hanbok_ of burgundy to complement her royal husband's robes.

Bofur ended the drumbeat, waited a count of four, then struck a new rhythm.

And then Kili's young protégé Skirfir, in Archer's Dress Uniform, led a line of close friends into the outer ring, including Bombur and lastly, Bofur followed.

With everyone in their places, Kili nearly held his breath.

Bofur did the honors by changing to a beat traditionally used for the bride's entrance.

First out was the King's youngest child, the Princess Iri, her golden curls cascading from high pony tails tied above each ear. She wore a simple child's _hanbok_ the color of dusky woodrose and carried a small basket of toy baby ravens made from felt. She walked a very straight line to quiet _ooohs_ and _ahhhs_ from the crowd and stepped carefully up to the second circle, going quickly to her mother and father. She turned to stand shyly against her father's legs and anyone who could see Fili noted his adoring smile and the reassuring hand on her shoulder.

And then Dwalin, in full dress Durin clan plaid, came forward with the Lady Nÿr, tall Daughter of Durin, proudly on his left arm, and in his right hand, a hefty swordmaster's hammer. It was, in fact, a hammer long used by Thorin Oakenshield himself.

Nÿr wore an eggshell white _hanbok_ with lavender and woodrose details and held a simple spray of mountain lilac. Behind them, a shy young dwarf lass in dusky lavender, seen for the first time in the traditional dress of her people, straightened Nÿr's hem, backed by the Queen's bodyguard, Nama, in light grey, acting as matron-chaperone. They came forward at a stately pace. Dwalin appeared every bit the proud father of the bride, even though he was only the stand-in, given that Nÿr's parents were long dead.

Kili only saw Nÿr, her face beautiful, her elegance unparalleled. _Yes. This is right. She is amazing._

Dwalin paused when they reached the anvil on the second tier, and he leaned forward to give Nÿr the traditional father's farewell kiss on her brow. It was gently done for such a fearsome warrior.

Then he raised the great hammer over his head and shouted, "_Shamukh!_"

Bofur's drum went silent. Dwalin looked Kili in the eye, winked, and pounded Thorin's great hammer once on the anvil, the clang ringing clear into the vastness of Erebor. Muffled cheers rose from the gallery.

Dwalin handed the hammer to Fili.

Fili gripped it in his strong hand, lifting it overhead. Bofur started a new drumbeat and Fili, acting on behalf of all the kin, circled his brother three times (as they had decided that all of them circling was overdoing it). Fili was serious, his eyes on his brother. But Kili stood with eyes cast down to show humility while trying to suppress an embarrassed smile. At the end of the third circuit, Fili clanged the anvil, kissed the hammer, and bowed to Nÿr.

Taking this as her queue, Nÿr handed her flowers to Beka, and accepted the hammer with a graceful curtsy. She was careful not to look too shaky as she held the heavy weight in one hand. Lifting the hem of her dress, she stepped to the center dais.

Kili watched her as she looked him in the eye, spared him a small smile, and then she, too, kissed the hammer for luck. Bofur took up a new rhythm with his hand drum as she coyly circled him three times, then stopped at the anvil.

She paused as if thinking, then did a respectable job of lifting the hammer high and letting it clang on the anvil, signaling that she agreed to the marriage.

And then Kili stepped forward, closing his hands around hers and taking the hammer so she would be spared the heavy lifting, showing his willingness to bear burdens as part of their partnership. He assisted her (as if she needed it) to the center of the dais, then turned to the kin and kith and drew his sword. He held it in guard position in his right hand, the hammer in his left, and he circled Nÿr three times, showing his willingness to protect and defend her with honor.

At the end of the third circuit, he crossed the sword and hammer in front of him and bowed to her. As he rose, they exchanged smiles. _Almost over_, they seemed to say to each other.

Then Kili turned to the anvil, swept his sword down to his side, raised the hammer high, and gave the anvil a mighty pound. The drumming stopped.

Cheers erupted from everyone. Kili turned back to Nÿr, bowing his head emphatically before handing the hammer back to his brother, sheathing his sword, and stepping up to the dais to face her, taking her hands in his.

"Very nice," she murmured.

"And you," he said. "Are gorgeous."

They stood mindfully waiting for Fili to take up the next part. Six of Kili's kin and kith lined up near the anvil.

Fili stood in front of the anvil, facing his brother and the bride in full view of the crowd. He held the hammer high.

"We thank Mahal," he called out, using his King voice, "And ask that he forge this bride and groom in strength and love, here today within the circle of their kin and kith."

He clanged the anvil and called out the first of the seven blessings, his voice ringing in the open hub. "Blessed are you Mahal who has created everything for the glory of Eru!"

The hammer passed to Dwalin. He clanged the anvil and called out the second blessing. "Blessed are you Mahal who fashioned the earth, the mountains and the hills!"

Gloin was handed the hammer, and he clanged the anvil and called out the third blessing. "Blessed are you Mahal who fashioned the gems and metals in the heart of the mountain!"

Fjalar accepted the hammer next, and he managed a respectable clang. "Blessed are you Mahal who fashioned the dwarves and the seven houses!" Everyone smiled. His voice had echoed loud and clear.

Bofur received the hammer next, handing his hand drum to Fjalar for safekeeping. He pounded the anvil with a miner's gusto. "Blessed are you Mahal," he called out. "Who taught the dwarves the skill to work the gems and metals in the heart of the mountain."

And then young Gunz, who needed both hands, took the hammer when Bofur held it out for him. Several of the gathered chuckled to see the lad lift it upright, though far too short to hit the anvil. Fili stepped forward, boosting his second son so he had enough height to manage a good swing.

The anvil clanged.

Gunz looked petrified, then he stared at his father. Obviously, he'd forgotten his lines. Fili murmured in his ear.

"Blessed are you Mahal," his child's voice shouted. Fili murmured again. "Who gladdens our halls," Gunz paused, relying on his father's prompt again. "Through his children!"

"Heyah!" the others cheered as Fili set him on his feet.

Kili winked at him.

And then Gunz hefted the hammer and handed it to Skirfir, friend of both Kili and Nÿr.

The lad was all military precision, Kili noted.

Skirfir bowed, straightened, and pounded the anvil like the young soldier he was. Somewhere in the hub, a roar of Guard lads filled the air and quieted quickly.

"Blessed are you Mahal," Skirfir called out. "Who gladdens groom and bride!"

Applause broke out, signaling the end of the seven blessings.

"Not done yet!" Fili called out and the crowd quieted. He stepped up to the dais to face Kili and Nÿr, holding out his hand, palm up, revealing two mithril rings—simple bands with Kili's emblem.

A raven quorked loudly and swooped to Kili's shoulder, obviously interested in the shiny objects.

Muffled laughter rippled through the audience.

Kili made a face and reached up to nudge the raven onto his hand. "No shiny things for you," he said quietly. "For Hen-hen. Go," he gave the bird a toss and it seemed to laugh as it found a new perch on a neighboring balcony.

The bird settled, Kili took the smaller ring and placed it on Nÿr's finger.

He held her hands in both of his and said the traditional words. "In my Halls you will find a house, in your heart I will find a home." He looked at her, his expression steady. He meant it.

And then Nÿr took the larger ring, placed in on his finger, and repeated the words, slightly reversed. "In your Halls I will find a house, in my_ heart_," she emphasized. "You will find a home."

And at this point, Fili added a non-traditional moment to the ceremony that Nÿr had not anticipated.

Beka, in her lavender _hanbok_, warrior father hovering, stepped up with a small pillow in her hands.

Fili nodded to her in thanks, then lifted a simple circlet and raised it high.

"Welcome Lady Nÿr," he said, lowering it to place on her head. "Daughter of Durin, Princess of Erebor."

Gasps, cries, and quiet applause broke out.

Fili held his hands out to the side and took a step back. "Anybody got an ale?" he called out.

Bofur, as planned, brought forth a full-to-frothing mug of ale, and Kili accepted it, looking at Nÿr to see if she was ready. She still looked stunned at the addition of the royal circlet.

But the final moment of the ceremony was at hand.

"On three?" Kili asked.

She nodded. Then he counted, and on three he lifted the mug, they both managed to sip without spilling, and both came up with froth on their faces.

Kili handed the mug to his brother, scooped up his beloved in his arms, and kissed her hard, froth and all. The circle of kin and kith stepped back, and as the gathered crowd watched, he spun her around and she laughed, one hand reaching up to make sure the circlet stayed in place.

The applause erupted in earnest, now. The ravens, surprised at the noise, took flight in the open air of the hub, swooping and circling.

"Do you think you can love me?" Kili teased.

She answered the only way she could—with a kiss that left no doubt.

* * *

**Another chapter or two to go, and yes, we'll see Aragorn again.**

_**Shamukh**!_ = literally: Salute! or We begin!

**_The Seven Blessings and the pledges:_** these were authored by Roy, aka the Dwarrow Scholar, aka "Kandral Strongbeard." Just google "the dwarrow scholar" to find his excellent work. All credit to Roy!

**_Bofur's hand drum: _**I'm thinking something akin to an Irish bodhrun, played with a tipper. Lots of examples on youtube.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Fjalar, oldest son of King Fili and apprentice Ravenspeaker, realized his entire family was together in one place for the first time in a long while. It was the evening of his uncle's wedding, he had done his part well (and made his father proud, he hoped) and he was allowed ale. He was on his third mug, as a matter of fact. What could be better?

All in all, he thought, it was a fairly fine party. It was a small number all told, and they'd taken over the King's Reception Room. At least they weren't doing the entire court banquet with all the dancing. Fjalar knew he would have been expected to find a lass and take a few turns on the floor, and he couldn't help feeling he'd dodged some serious embarrassment.

Thank Mahal for his uncle's recovering health and the insistence on a low-key event.

Even now, as Kili smiled and laughed and held hands with his new Princess, Fjalar could see the signs. His uncle limped a bit, still bore a healing scrape on his cheekbone, and he wasn't his usual spirited self, as expected for a party. Maybe he was just taking his wedding seriously…but Fjalar didn't think so. Whatever had happened with the goblins hadn't been good.

The fact that his father wasn't speaking about it made that plain.

And Fjalar had spent the last week on duty as a ravenspeaker. A lad picked up pieces of information that way. He and his cousin had tried to sort some of it in the quieter hours out on the western terrace. Whatever was going on involved some Durin family secrets of some kind, they were certain.

He scanned the room for his cousin, Beka. He would have resorted to dancing with her, if he'd had to. Better his cousin than an _actual_ lass.

He finally spotted her, but what he saw was entirely unexpected.

Not only was she still wearing her dress—a traditional _hanbok_, no less—but she was curled up on a sofa against her father, flat out asleep, a twig of lilac still clutched in one hand.

And Dwalin, head tilted toward her, sat with his eyes closed as if nothing in the world would make him disturb her.

That was when Fjalar felt his own father's arm come around his shoulders, his voice in his ear.

"You leave them be," his father murmured. "No teasing her, lad."

Fjalar frowned. "I wasn't going to…"

His father raised an eyebrow, his gaze serious.

"I won't. Promise." Fjalar meant it.

"Good lad," his father said, patting his shoulder. "Family is worth more than all the wealth in this mountain, Fjalar. Never forget that."

And then his father pulled him into a tight hug.

* * *

Fili, King Under the Mountain and older brother of the groom, had once given up on ever seeing his _nadadith_ settle down and marry a lass. Kili was a fighter, willing and loyal to the last drop of ale, as the saying went.

But he'd been unlucky in many ways.

Horrifyingly unlucky, in the case of a dragon and a morgul wound.

At least the dragon was gone. It remained to be seen about the morgul wound.

And as happy as Kili looked with his new Princess next to him, Fili could see his brother's exhaustion in the strain around his eyes and in the increasing limp. Even this small family gathering was a bit more than he was able to handle.

Not so many days ago, after all, he'd been in the hands of a goblin horde…and finished off an eighty-one year battle with a dragon.

Mahal. Of course the lad was a bit tired. He was allowed.

Fili handed his empty ale mug to a passing server and sought his lady wife.

"I think it's time to send them off for some peace and quiet, love."

She squeezed his hand in agreement. "Your fiddle's over there with Nama," she said. "Are you ready?"

"Ah," he said. "Let me tune up, and then I'm ready when you are." He smiled at her.

Fili and his brother both played fiddle well as lads, but as time had passed, Kili's playing had fallen by the wayside. Fili still played, but only in private to accompany his lady wife's beautiful voice when she sang for him.

And in general, the King and Queen of Erebor did not provide musical entertainment. Fili couldn't honestly recall the last time he'd played for anyone outside his wife and children.

But Fili uncased his fiddle, tightened the bow, and tested the tuning.

The sound, predictably, caused everyone to turn and look. A few faces looked completely shocked. A few others smiled at the unexpected pleasure, recognizing the rare treat. Even sleepy Beka looked up and dragged her father to stand in front.

Nama, having prepared for this, invited a fellow Iron Hills friend to take a seat. Fili recognized Olga as one of the fifty lasses who'd come "on cultural exchange" from his cousin Stonehelm's kingdom and she played a fine melodeon. She sat gingerly with a well-worn instrument on her knee and played a single C for him to tune against.

Satisfied, he nodded, and Lady An and Nama stepped up between them.

"First of all," Fili said to the small crowd. "Congratulations to the newlyweds!"

Applause broke out. Kili and Nÿr blushed and bowed, hands on hearts.

"As you know, it's traditional for the family to bestow gifts on the happy couple." People nodded and murmured assent. "And Mahal knows I could give them a pile a gold and the best rooms in the mountain…"

Several people chuckled. Kili already had those things, of course.

"But in this case, I wanted my gift to them to be something more from the heart." He bowed his head to his brother and new sister-in-law. "So my lady wife and our friends Nama and Olga have agreed to help me out. And since it's time for us to send these two off for some rest and privacy, we'd like to offer a _Yâsithâlh Kumathur_…an old tradition. It means something like _a song to send the newlyweds off to bed_."

Everyone laughed, a few people clapped. Kili and Nÿr blushed again.

Fili grinned, enjoying the jest. "You might think it's a bar song I learned from Bofur," he laughed, nodding to the old miner. "But I'm happy to say it isn't. The tune is quite old, and it's meant to be a send-off blessing full of love and good wishes from the older lasses to the younger one." He looked shy himself a moment, then looked at Kili. "This is your chance, bro, to get yourselves over to that side of the room and be ready to make your exit."

Kili took the hint and was quick to hand off his ale mug and grab Nÿr's hand. "That door?" he grinned, pointing to the family exit off to the side.

Fili nodded. "That's the one. But don't take off before we finish the song." Fili's grin turned mischievous. "I realize you're eager and all that…"

The audience snorted and chuckled.

Kili and Nÿr, in good humor, laughed along with everyone else. The crowd, in complete willingness to aid and abet, made way for the couple to stand just right of the musicians, Kili behind his bride, his arms wrapped around her. Everyone else happily stood back to watch. The getaway door was indeed in easy reach. Even the servers left off, standing back with thrilled smiles to watch.

"So here's our gift to you," Fili said, looking at his brother, hand on his chest. "From the heart, my _nadadith_."

Fili became more serious and raised his fiddle into position.

Olga started with a gentle drone of almost magical notes in the background. Lady An crooned the opening in her clear, pure voice, and after the first chorus, Fili added accompaniment on the fiddle, with Nama and Olga adding harmony in their deeper voices. By the second chorus, the harmonies were resonating beautifully in the high-ceilinged chamber. Fili took a brief verse with fiddle only, and at this point, Nÿr turned in Kili's arms and raised her arms to encircle his neck.

And the newlyweds were happy to provide everyone with the counterpoint to the music: a slow, passionate kiss followed by gently touching foreheads, looking into each others' eyes and swaying gently in time with the song. Around the room, almost everyone else swayed along while the song named her sweetheart and farewelled her into her husband's home. When Kili's hands cradled her head gently against his heart and he closed his eyes, no one doubted that the warrior and the healer were the match of a lifetime.

And when Fili played the closing notes, their final, sweet kiss lingered as the small audience clapped and dabbed their eyes.

They surfaced, blushing yet again, and this time Fili shooed them off.

One of the servers had the door open, Kili spared a head bow to his brother, and they waved once to the gathering. It was lost on no one that they were obviously all too eager to escort each other through the door and have time to themselves.

The door closed, and the chatter in the reception room rose to excited levels. Many people came forward to compliment the Queen and the two accompanists, Nama and the shyer Olga. Nama took it in stride, but Olga fanned herself, obviously thrilled at the attention. Fili smiled at her.

He watched Bofur sidle up for a good look at her melodeon. "That's quite a squeezebox," he complimented, hat in hand.

Fili suppressed an urge to roll his eyes.

And then Fjalar was there with Skirfir, both of them ready to act as stewards. Fili handed the fiddle to his son for casing and accepted a hand towel from Skirf. He patted his face and wiped his hands.

"Thank you, lads," he said, smiling. "Hope that was acceptable."

Skirfir, of all people, had flushed cheeks. "It was really beautiful, my Lord," he said. "Entirely fit for a princess."

Fili noticed the lad blinking at Beka, her pretty dress a bit rumpled as she clung to her father's arm.

Fili considered young Skirfir. Maybe it was time to find that lad a lass for himself. He glanced at his cousin's daughter. And Mahal, maybe not that one.

"Careful, there lad." he murmured, a companionable hand on Skirf's shoulder. "Fifty years from now, maybe. And even then, her father might gut you first."

* * *

Corax had spoken to Raven Prince, his First Friend, on the Ledge that morning. Raven Prince was talking again. He was better.

But Corax still worried. He was flying daily from the Mountain to the pinnacles. _Rocks with lizards next to field with mice. _The place where he'd brought the war-flock.

Something still bothered him about this place. Something bad.

But he flew over, circled, even landed on a high outcropping. _Many legs? No more many-legs?_

He cawed a challenge, loud and lusty to whoever might hear…to any of the many-legs that would hear.

But there was silence.

He eyed the forest, checked the shadows. No many-legs. None.

Eventually he circled again, sighted the great mountain, and flew back toward the home of his First Friend and the happy private place with pines where Raven Prince left him nuts and fruit. Even an occasional mouse.

But something still bothered him.

_Something…_

* * *

****Fili's gift of song to his brother:** I modeled this after the live version of Bold Riley by the Wailin' Jennys…findable on YouTube (there's a nice version recorded for Prairie Home Companion, in fact.) I realize music taste varies widely and this may not be your thing, but to me, their vocals are the female version of the male voices in the Misty Mountains song. And the simple acoustic instruments match a culture with portable folk instruments. So feel free to listen. I realize the actual lyrics to this song have an entirely different meaning…but it's an AU! and I'm imagining a reinterpretation…lassies farewelling a friend to her husband's home. Besides, Kili and Nÿr are a bit beat up and exhausted, even if it is their wedding day. So they're not really up for romping. It's more a romantic lullaby, I think. I imagine they make it to their bed, curl up together in complete exhaustion, and just fall asleep. LOL.

And a little cameo in there (Olga) for **Borys**'**s** (TMI Fairy's) enjoyment.


	21. Chapter 21

****Wrapping up...part one! Feel free to drop me a note, even if you're late to the story...always helps to know your reactions and thoughts... Enjoy! -Summer****

* * *

**Chapter 21**

Bruilan of the King's Advance Guard, Minas Tirith, left Dale with the Royal Procession, riding beside Eowyn, Lady of Ithilien. He felt out of place among the royals: three men, two elves and a dwarf.

But his presence had been requested by the King of Erebor himself, and it was not, apparently, a formal dinner at mid-morning. The King of Erebor seemed to have something else in mind.

And the Lady Eowyn was full of questions.

"I've heard that you've actually met Erebor's new princess," Eowyn said. They'd all heard of Prince Kili's sudden wedding and Dale was buzzing with the news.

Bruilan nodded. "Yes, my Lady. A lass not unlike yourself in some ways. She is a trained healer."

"Is she?" Eowyn's eyes were wide. "I have heard of Erebor's advances in burn treatments and would love to know more. Tell me what she's like."

"She is quite capable," Bruilan said, going for a safe descriptor since he knew better than to gossip. Thankfully, his King and friend Aragorn rode up beside him.

"What the Lady Eowyn is trying to ask, I think," Aragorn offered, an amused grin on his face, "Is whether she is bearded and hairy. I'm afraid that Master Gimli has painted a rather dreadful picture of dwarf ladies." Aragorn smiled broadly now. "It might help if you corrected the notion before we arrive," he nodded his head.

Bruilan turned to see Lady Eowyn looking at him with expectant eyes. On her other side, her husband, the Prince Faramir smiled in amused sympathy. He was obviously no stranger to Eowyn's persistent curiosity.

"Ah," Bruilan said. "She is a bit taller and less plump than most dwarves. Black hair, single braid down the back…no beard." He pointed to his ears. "Little bit of soft sideburn." He smiled at Eowyn. "Came up to about here on me," he patted his elbow to show her height. "Taller than Gimli, I think. Nowhere near as heavy…"

"Was she shy? I hear that dwarf men don't allow their women out in the world."

"I wouldn't say I believe that. They are a bit shy of our kind, that is true. But the Lady Nÿr is well traveled in her own right— out to the Blue Mountains and back, and I don't believe she asked any lad for permission to do it." He chuckled. "And no one could have stopped her from going into that goblin cave."

Eowyn looked toward Gimli, who rode ahead with Bard.

Bruilan went on. "I believe that bit about not leaving their homes is a bit of a smokescreen," he said. "I never heard anyone say it inside Erebor. I saw lasses in uniform, saw them working. Didn't seem much different from the lads."

"Children? Did you see dwarflings?"

Bruilan shook his head. "I saw no children when I was there, but I understand the King has an usually large family with four."

"You liked the princess? I've a mind to make friends with her, but I fear to misstep."

"I thought her kind and friendly, but we were on a covert mission…so I can't speak for her manners at tea," Bruilan winked. "We rode hard and she never complained. She can think on her feet and has no mercy for goblins, I can tell you that. We were ambushed and I lost track of her for a moment…when it was over I feared the worst, but she had taken down two entirely on her own—broke one's neck, got the other one in a rather precise stab straight into the heart."

Eowyn nodded. "A healer would know how to do the most damage with the least effort."

Bruilan smiled. "She is a brave lass, more than worthy of her new title. But you understand we went alone into a goblin cave…"

Eowyn nodded. She was no stranger to facing dark and evil things in order to protect a loved one.

"At one point we were in a tight spot." He leveled a look at the Lady Eowyn and lowered his voice. "Our captors discovered she was female and it was touch and go. She was ready to jump to her death rather than let them touch her. Tragedy was averted, but it was a narrow thing."

Eowyn said nothing. The experience weighed on him, she could tell. "I am sorry. War is not generally kind to women."

"My apologies for bringing that up…" Bruilan worried now that he'd broached an inappropriate subject. "I only meant to help you understand…"

"No apology needed," Eowyn murmured, her eyes still wide. "I'm grateful to know…I can be too interested sometimes and I see now that I might use more tact…"

"You are right to be cautious," Faramir murmured from her other side. "The Sons of Durin are known to be very rich and very private."

"They're also very brave and very strong," Aragorn added. "And this mountain is a strange and powerful thing by itself." He looked up at it as they approached.

"Yes," Arwen added. She had been talking quietly with Legolas, but now she slowed to join them, lifting her face to the morning breeze. "Very old and ancient…deeper and more earth-bound than the places of elves…" She smiled. "But it is not a dark magic. It's strong, unyielding. It is earth and fire when elves would have wind and water."

Aragorn rode in silence a moment, contemplating her words. "If Sauron had ever gained control of Erebor, all our plans would have failed. The Sons of Durin and the people of Dale held fast the northern lands…and by their work did we succeed. I wish to honor this in our relations with the King and his people. They were as much our partners in the great victory as those of us who took the field."

Eowyn and Faramir bowed their heads in understanding, hands on hearts. Bruilan followed suit.

Gimli rode in silence. He, of course, already knew.

* * *

Kili, Prince of Erebor, looked at the drawings spread out on his brother's council table: sketch artists' renderings of the great dragon burning, presented in stages. Skull and bones brought ashore by lines of laboring dwarves, bones crushed under warhammers, the remains lit afire with torches. Then a great explosion, helped along by the King's anger attuned to the power of the Mountain. Blue fire and vaporizing elements.

He'd felt that explosion…it had been the thing that broke the dragon's hold.

"This was quite a cheeky feat, O King under the Mountain," Kili commented with a touch of humor. "Dragging the whole thing out of the lake…" Kili shook his head. "I get the feeling that Thorin is sitting somewhere laughing his ass off at us."

He saw Fili grin. "I think all of them are. Even mum. But it was Gondor's idea. I just made it happen."

"Is this them?" Kili raised his head, listening to the sounds of activity coming from the main hall.

Fili looked up and nodded. "I believe so. How's your foot? We're about to do a lot of walking."

"My foot is fine," Kili said. "Stop fussing at me."

"And the quality of your sleep?" Fili teased, leading the way out of the King's Chamber and down a passage to the Great Hall.

Kili teased back. "Deep and highly satisfying."

Fili's eyes twinkled when he looked over his shoulder at him. "Good to hear. Married all of three days and life is bliss."

Kili laughed. "You know, nothing's really any different. She's still studying for exams, I'm still out doing whatever you need me to do..."

Fili led the way through the King's Door into the wide, open hall, and now the brothers walked side by side to wait in front of the King's chair, a smaller replica of the old throne, used for most business.

"Well, that's my fault," Fili said. "I admit to being a completely ineffective chaperone," Fili's smile was a bit smug. "I just looked the other way while you two started sharing quarters..."

"And I thank you for that," Kili nodded. "Bit better than your method, you'll have to admit."

Fili laughed. "Yeah…that first month with An was pretty much a disaster."

"Who knew she'd want an actual bed?" Kili teased. "A private bedroom or a privy with a door?"

"You think?" Fili laughed again. "We were pretty rough around the edges in those days. It's a wonder she stayed."

Kili shook his head at the memory. They'd lived in the open halls with the guard…the part of Erebor with the royal quarters hadn't even been cleaned or renovated yet. He looked at the cool beauty of the great malachite green stone around them. The polished, beautifully-lit city inside the mountain today was nothing like the dark, dusty ruin full of corpses and dragon stench that they'd found eighty one years ago.

He schooled his expression to seriousness and set his hands on his belt in a posture that matched the King's and looked toward the procession coming toward them.

He had two things to do in order to make amends after the events of the past two weeks.

One he was looking forward to, but other not so much.

* * *

Formal greetings complete, the visitors were brought to the Reception Room to refresh after their ride.

Kili knew there was no putting off the inevitable.

"Legolas Greenleaf," he bowed, finding Legolas standing a little apart from the small crowd.

"My Lord Prince of Erebor," Legolas put his hand on his heart.

"I would like to offer my heartfelt thanks, along with a deep apology and try to make amends," Kili said, meaning it.

Legolas at least didn't fall back on old patterns and insult him. But Gimli came over to stand facing both of them, as if a referee might be needed. Kili noted Aragorn turning to stand a few paces back.

Kili reached out and touched his cousin's arm to reassure him.

"Is this about Tauriel?" Legolas spoke quietly. "Aragorn told me about the dragon…how he had caught her spirit and held her here."

Kili looked away. "I regret more deeply than I can say that I didn't understand she was trapped." He looked back at the tall elf, feeling the sadness all over again.

Legolas only blinked.

Kili steeled himself and went on. "My belief is that she hid her spirit self to elude the dragon, so he could not use her. It was a very brave thing."

Legolas nodded. He looked sad, but Kili could never quite tell with most elves. "She is free now?" Legolas asked.

"Yes." Kili nodded. At least he could confirm that. "We said goodbye... She was happy, at the end—ready to go." He swallowed and his voice got quieter. "I asked her if she could see the stars and she said yes."

Legolas closed his eyes.

Kili went on as if his memory of her gentled his words. "It was as if I sensed her spirit dancing. I could feel how much loved trees and life and growing things…and I know that her greatest secret was her love for you." Kili paused, then went on. "Her truest wish in life was to be worthy of a prince."

Legolas opened his eyes, looked stricken for a moment. "Which is where you came in. I'm glad you were her friend," he murmured. "I'm glad she is free." He looked at Kili.

Kili nodded one time.

"She resisted that dragon to protect The Woodland Realm, Legolas." Kili's voice was stronger now. "I would have her remembered for her spirit and her sacrifice. Please promise me you will tell your people and that someone will remember. She did it for them." He lowered his voice. "She did it for you."

Legolas looked at his feet, but his hand came up to rest on Kili's shoulder. "I promise, _Mellon_. I will make sure we remember."

And then to Kili's utter surprise, the tall elf prince went to his knee, hand on heart and bowed to him.

"Oh, now this is all wrong," Kili laughed. But he bowed back, deeply. "I owe you much, my Lord. The life of my beloved not least."

Legolas grinned. "I do apologize for carrying her over the threshold a bit before you did," he teased, referring to his rescue and the fact that it had been he who had carried Nÿr from the narrow ledge to safety.

"Good thing I was too senseless to object," Kili grinned.

But Legolas didn't tease back. His expression went serious again. "They killed five elves in that fight ring…did you know?"

Kili sobered. He shook his head. It was not easy to kill an elf. "It is a grievous thing to lose even one."

Legolas smiled. "But child of Aulë, you survived, and I am glad." Legolas pulled Kili closer, touching foreheads. "Live your life as she would have you do," he said.

And then he was gone, standing and striding away. Kili watched him go.

Gimli nodded, philosophically, having observed the whole exchange. "He will sort it out. Now, Galadriel—there was a lady worth true reverence…"

Kili looked up to see Aragorn next to him and they shared a quick look of dismay as if to say _not again_…then smiled at each other.

"I'm afraid I'm taking your time next," Aragorn said to him.

* * *

Nÿr stood silently next to Kili in an antechamber, having been invited in and informally introduced to Queen Arwen. Formal introductions to the others would come later.

At least she and Fili stood with Kili as he unhappily allowed an exam, and now they watched Aragorn and Arwen, Elrond's daughter, consider the problem.

The topic was Kili's morgul wound.

"I am not a skilled healer like my father," Arwen said. "But I do recall clearly the conversations we had about your particular case. This kind of wound is not a small thing. My own mother was harmed by such a poison…and _Ada_ could not heal her. She departed, as Frodo did."

Nÿr, suddenly frightened, found Fili's hand. He squeezed reassuringly, but he looked as sober as she felt.

"Yet you have borne this poison far longer than any of them," Arwen said, her brow wrinkled. "I am not sure what that means and my father did not know, either. Except for this: the dwarves alone are Aulë's creation…and it is written: _Aulë made the dwarves strong and unyielding_. I think this means that you will not succumb, even if the goblins successfully augmented the poison."

Aragorn nodded. "But no one ever said _unsuffering_." He looked at Kili. "I think Durin's Day will still bring to you this recurring fever…whether strong or weak, I cannot say."

They sat in silence.

"But I think I can guarantee no more conversations with dead dragons."

Kili smiled a little bit.

"I will also say this," Aragorn continued. "The piece that does not fit between your case and the cases of Frodo and Celebrian is the inability to leave the mountain's protection. That problem," he looked at Kili. "I think, was related to the dragon spirit, not to the morgul wound. Frodo was pursued by nine because of the ring, and they pursued long before he was ever stabbed by a morgul blade. Once the ring was gone, the nine were destroyed and he was hunted no more, yet his recurring fever stayed. In your case, I think the dragon's spirit was the true draw for the dwimmerwraiths."

"Are you saying he can leave Erebor?" Fili asked.

"I'm saying we should test it." Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Did you not try to step off Erebor's soil some years ago?"

"Yes," Kili nodded. He looked away. "But I would not like to meet a wraith ever again."

Aragorn considered him. "No one would. But I think that before I depart, we will return to the place where you did this test and we will give it another try."

"It was north of the mountain," Fili said. "At the edge of the Heatherns—the flatland that stretches up to the Withered Heath."

"So we give it a shot. If my guess is correct, master dwarf," Aragorn went on, looking at Kili. "You will be able to go anywhere you wish. I would like to see you back in the Blue Mountains."

Kili looked up sharply. "Leave? Leave my brother?" He glanced quickly at Fili.

Aragorn smiled. "I don't think distance will really change your love for each other. Roads will be safer soon, travel between kingdoms relatively easy."

"Blue Mountains…why there?" Fili asked.

"The Blue Mountains hold the oldest dwarf settlements in Middle Earth, do they not? That is a great responsibility. It also sits on my western border." He looked Kili in the eye. "And the Blue Mountains people themselves have made it known that they wish a King on their throne again. The old councilors left by your uncle are in decline and passing away. They have only three where once they had seven."

Kili could only stare.

"I would offer them no less than a Son of Durin, and one born to their halls. They revere your late mother, there. They already consider you their own." He nodded toward Fili. "You've had a wise mentor and your experience here has prepared you like nothing else could. It is time," he said pointedly. "For you to come out of the shadows and make your own way in the world."

He and Arwen took their leave then, returning to the reception room and the mid-day refreshments. Nÿr sank to the edge of the couch where Kili sat, quiet and blinking.

Fili stared at the door.

None of them spoke for a long while.

"Well," Fili finally said. "There's no use worrying until we test Aragorn's theory."

"At the Heatherns?"

Fili nodded. "And then we'll know…"


	22. Chapter 22

****A/N: ** Just a quick note about a reference to BOFA contained here: I went more with the canon ending rather than the movie version. So there's a reference to Thorin fighting Bolg (not Azog.) Though obviously, the brothers survived, so I'm not all that canon, here! ;P******

* * *

**Chapter 22**

Kili, Prince of Erebor, still had trouble sleeping.

He woke in the early hours, and even the comfort of his beloved curled up at his side was not enough to quell the unsettled feelings in his gut.

_Goblin cave. Yagrat. Spider poison and morgul fever…_

The dragon's voice…

_"Dwarf. Durin's spawn. Filth."_

_Kili pulled himself inward. He wanted to hide, wanted cover._

No.

He slid out of bed, determined to cut off the sound of dragon voice in his head.

He grabbed a night robe, slipping it on as he walked into the annex's great room, trying to re-focus his unruly mind onto better things. It was just an echo of the dragon. Just a nightmare. He almost sat in one of the leather chairs to look out the large windows at the night sky…then just opened the door and walked out into the open air of the Ledge.

It was a clear, summer night, a splash of bright stars overhead, sharply in focus at this elevation on the mountainside.

Of course it reminded him of Tauriel.

_Her voice was a whisper in his ear. "This sweet moment doesn't make up for all the years he bound us, Kili. Let yourself be free of him. Boe i 'waen, mellon."_

All the years. Eighty-one, in fact. Kili blinked blurriness from his eyes and felt wetness on his face as everything from his days with the goblins churned around in his head.

_You will rise and follow the example of your doomed Uncle._

_I could seeeeee him. I could see Thorin Oakenshield through his sickness, just like I see you through your morgul curse…I watched him try._

_Images of Thorin, wounded, beset by goblins and trying desperately to fight them off. Bolg, bearing down_.

_The scene played out, slowed and warped by memory. _

_I watched, dwarf. Watched him try to defy me, and watched him fail. It was me. I crippled his sword arm, I let Bolg win. _

Once again, Kili's eyes were wide open but unseeing in the real world, his head filled with the long, slow vision of Thorin Oakenshield falling, mortally wounded, in the battlefield.

_Death all around, death on the mountainside. _

_Yes. Let it end_…

And then Fili's voice on the wind.

"Kili!" The sound was sharp, commanding. He felt himself pulled back, then wrapped in strong arms.

"Kili…" His brother's voice, hoarse with emotion. A glimpse of Nÿr, panic on her beautiful face.

"I was just getting some air," he mumbled. He'd been several feet back from the edge.

He looked. No. He'd been right on the edge.

And he'd not entirely known it.

"Kili…" His brother's voice sounded so despairing.

_Mahal._ "Fee…" He clutched his brother and felt himself shaking.

* * *

The next morning, Kili wanted to beg off making the trip out to the Heatherns.

"Absolutely not," Fili had said, backing his opinion with a stubborn glower. "We're testing this dragon theory and getting past it, Kili. We have help. We're not losing this chance."

Feeling rather like Gunz under his father's stern countenance, Kili had bathed and dressed.

But he didn't feel up to it. He felt wrung out, and he felt disappointed and depressed. The dragon was supposed to be gone. It shouldn't be waking him in the night and causing him…grief.

And he'd frightened Nÿr.

He finished lacing his shirt, then reached for her.

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling her close. She looked miserable and he felt like it was his fault. "I should be past all this. I don't want it to bother you. You must think I'm crazy."

She made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a grunt. "It's not for me to judge, Son of Durin," she said, repeating back to him words he'd given her several months earlier. Back then, she'd been the one waking in the night, traumatized. "You have my love, no matter what." She framed his face with her hands. "Let's just work past it," she whispered. "You've been through a lot in the last few weeks. Anyone would be having nightmares."

He didn't know how to answer. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers.

"Go with Fili, love," she'd urged. "At least get an answer to one thing at a time."

He nodded. He would go. For her.

When his brother called for him, he kissed her gently. She kissed back, squeezing his hand.

And then he'd gone.

* * *

There were eight of them, all together, riding from the Western Terrace north to the edge of the Heatherns.

Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Skirfir, Bruilan, and Bard were along with Kili and his brother. Skirfir and Bruilan had material for firebrands tied to their saddles. Everyone else carried their own overnight gear. They would ride all day, make their test after dark, and return on the morrow.

"Morning, lads," Aragorn greeted them.

Kili still felt fuzzy-brained.

"Sorry," Fili apologized. "Bad night."

Aragorn's brows came together in concern. "How bad?"

"Turin Turambar bad."

Kili wasn't sure he understood that reference, but apparently Aragorn had.

"All the more reason to go see what happens, then." He nodded with resolve on his face, turning his horse north on the trail, and the group headed out.

After the first mile, the fresh air and sunlight seemed to help lift Kili's spirits, and he noted that Bruilan carried his new sword on his hip.

That had been great fun, yesterday. He felt himself smiling at the man from Gondor. Possibly his first real smile of the day.

"Did you name the sword?" he asked, riding up beside the man.

Bruilan looked slightly embarrassed. "That I did, my Lord. You told me it was a _zagarâl _design.I like that for a name, though I admit I don't know the real meaning._"_

"_Zagarâl,_" Kili said. "Perfectly good name. Means _slicer_." He growled the word, grinning, figuring Bruilan would approve.

Bruilan's hand went to the hilt. "Good to know. I enjoy a good slice…especially through an orc gut."

Kili let the scene from yesterday replay in his head as they rode. They'd toured the guests through the upper mines and the smelter, then to the forges. They'd stopped by the armory after that…a vast storehouse of the warsmith work, some of it weaponry that pre-dated the dragon years.

"And now for some fun, if you'll allow me," Fili had announced. "Bruilan of the King's Guard, Man of Gondor," he'd called, waving the man forward. "Thank you for answering my summons and coming along."

Bruilan, had stepped forward, hand on heart. "I am honored, my Lord King."

"I understand we lost your sword during your trip to the goblin caves."

Bruilan had nodded, looking a bit chagrined.

Kili had stepped up, smiling at the tall man. "It would honor us if you would choose a replacement," he'd said. "It's a small thing in exchange for saving my life and guarding my beloved. And," he'd indicated the vast amory. "We have plenty."

Bruilan's face had gone blank. "My lord…!"

Aragorn had slapped the man on the back, encouraging him. "By all means go look," he'd said to Bruilan. "Can't offer insult, after all." He'd nodded to his guardsman. "Pick well."

"I think I can help you narrow it down," Kili had offered, leading Bruilan to an aisle dedicated to swords. "You fight with a longsword?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Aragorn, Faramir, and Bard had followed, faces eager to see what weaponry lay in Erebor's vaults.

Kili had heard Gimli going on about axes to the ladies as he led the lads away, his cousin's voice fading as they went deeper into the racks. "These are in lots by swordsmith," Kili said, steering Bruilan to a set of man-sized blades in one section. He'd pulled one from its sheath, holding it vertical and showing the smith's mark, then presenting the hilt to Bruilan.

"This swordsmith was well known for his steelwork…traditional forging, constructed in the seven layer method. Very strong. Holds an edge like nothing else."

Bruilan had held the sword up, his eyes widening at the wave-like pattern of the folded steel.

He'd stepped a little apart and tested a few strokes and looked dumbfounded. "I've never felt its like…" he murmured.

Kili smiled and unsheathed his own short sword. They'd all discussed the finer points of blade balance, center of percussion, weight, impact areas, and fatigue in the hand. Then he'd nodded for the others to test blades if they wanted. They had dived in.

"What do lifelong allies get in the way of swords?" Bard had asked, admiring a longsword that he held in both hands.

Kili had looked him over, then narrowed his eyes. "Ten percent discount," he'd deadpanned. "Gold only. Up front."

The others had laughed. Kili had winked at Bard, then gave him a nod, meaning _take it, but let's not rain on Bruilan's parade_. Bard had brightened and looked at the blade as if to say, _come to papa, sweetheart._

Bruilan had assumed a sparring pose, testing a few more guards and strikes.

Kili hadn't been able to resist raising his short sword and batting the man's blade aside. Sensing a demonstration, the others had backed up in anticipation.

Kili had attacked in an opening gambit often used in the sparring circles.

Bruilan had parried easily. "So easy in the hand," he said. "Remarkable." He switched it up on Kili and went on the attack.

Kili, having practiced swordplay his entire life, had no trouble parrying the longer sword, though he'd ducked once to avoid a swing. Then he'd turned up the heat and went at Bruilan, whirling his blade in a series of _moulinets_. Bruilan had defended against the first three, then stepped back to avoid a near-blow as the whirling blade spun inside his guard. Gamely he'd tried another defense, looking surprised at how easily the sword worked in his hand, and then he'd taken several steps back, hands up.

Kili had stood down and bowed to Bruilan. "Apologies, lad. Just helping you get a feel for it."

"Blade like that," Aragorn had nodded to Bruilan. "You'll fight all day."

"You can look at some others…" Kili had offered. But Bruilan had been a man in awe of the blade in his hand.

Kili had smiled. He'd had that particular longsword in mind and felt glad to see it was a match.

Together they'd escorted the stunned Bruilan back to Fili and the ladies. Kili noted that Bard had indeed kept hold of the blade he'd selected and stayed at the back of the group to avoid attention.

Cheeky lad.

"That's the one?" Fili had said to Bruilan, holding out his hand. Bruilan had bowed and offered it.

Fili had pulled enough of the blade from the sheath to check the edge, then offered it back with a bow and a smile. "Bruilan of Gondor, please accept this sword in honor of your service to Erebor."

Bruilan had looked like a man who'd been knocked silly as he'd gone to one knee and accepted the sword from the King.

"Whose mark?" Aragorn asked, looking at the hilt.

Fili peered at the swordmaker's chop and smiled. "Thorin's."

"And I almost forgot," Kili had said, raising his eyebrows and patting his pockets. After a moment he'd tossed a leather sack the size of a large apple to Bruilan.

Bruilan had caught it easily, the clink of coins obvious. His face had gone blank again.

Kili had shrugged. "In case you have expenses."

* * *

By nightfall, they'd found the place on the edge of the Heatherns where Kili and his brother had tested the protection of the mountain against dwimmerwraiths once before. It was a barren piece of exposed, flat rock at the north edge of Erebor's land.

A brisk nightwind blew out of the east. The land ahead of them was drier and more scrubby than the western slope, the soil more like coarse sand.

It was an hour past sunset, and the eight of them stood in a defensive circle, Skirfir and Bruilan passing around lit firebrands.

Given his uneasy time the night before, Kili stood with stone beneath his feet and an expression of wary concern on his face, hair blowing around his face. He still wasn't sure about this…

Two more steps and he'd be outside the mountain's protection.

His companions on this journey stood in silence, seven lads bearing seven firebrands. Fili stood closest, worry in every line of his face.

Aragorn stood the farthest. "Is everyone in place?"

Legolas had been standing with his eyes closed, as if testing the air. "The stars are quiet tonight. Strife is far away."

Aragorn nodded to Kili. "When you're ready, Lord Prince."

Kili looked at Gondor's King, a man so sure that this was the right thing to do.

He breathed deep and looked at his brother one more time, both wanting and dreading whatever came next.

* * *

_Boe i 'waen, mellon _= I must go now, my friend.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Kili, Prince of Erebor, stood under the night sky within a circle formed by his brother, his cousin, and his young archer friend on the northern border of Erebor's land, ready to test a theory. Their allies Bard and Legolas stood with them, along with the King Elessar and Bruilan, King's man from Gondor. All seven of them held lit firebrands at the ready, fully prepared to defend him if needed.

And Kili was aware that everyone waited for him to make the first move: to step outside the protection of the Mountain.

And then he would either be beset by dwimmerwraiths, or he would not.

Kili steeled himself, deciding that it was just time to get it over with. _And then I'll know…_

He took one deep breath, then walked onto the gravelly soil of the Heatherns. About ten steps out, he stopped.

"Here is where they came upon me last time," he said. Dark things, drawn not by the presence of his morgul curse, as they'd thought, but by the presence of the dragon spirit, ever its eye upon him and eager for a chance.

But tonight, with the dragon's spirit truly gone…nothing. His honor guard was watchful, looking all around, firebrands at the ready.

Kili swallowed, then walked a little further out, his ring of defenders shadowing him. Nothing.

"Pull back," Aragorn said to the others. "Let's give a little more space."

Kili's gut felt hollow at the prospect of less protection, but as the rest of them widened their distance, his brother came closer.

Kili, still nervous, glanced at him gratefully, then took a few more steps away from the safety of the mountain's protection. Still nothing. They walked further out, and this time they didn't stop until they stood a good quarter mile from the nearest Erebor stone.

The others now stopped, fanned out several yards behind them.

And nothing stood between Kili and the open lands of Middle Earth…not even a hint of dark wraiths on the wind.

Legolas, well known for his sharp senses in these matters, shook his head, detecting no disturbances in the night. In fact, his serene face looked up at the starry sky, a low, bright moon illuminating the rolling hills of the Heatherns. Legolas looked like an elf lost in pleasant memory.

Fili snuffed his firebrand in the loose soil as the final test, and he stood beside Kili, open to the night, completely unprotected.

And still, nothing happened.

Kili felt his brother's hand find his.

"_Mahal_. I think you're free…" He and Fili looked at each other. "I think this means you can go," Fili said, his eyes moist. "Anytime, anywhere you want."

Kili heard him sniff, and he might've sniffed himself as he turned and slowly embraced his brother.

"But I belong with you," he said, barely able to fathom life away from Fili. Now that he was free to go, he wondered if he really could. "I've always been with you."

Fili sniffed again. "Yes, I know. But I can't be greedy, Kee. Every fledgling's got to leave the nest and test his own wings." Fili's arms tightened around him. "I'm not sure it's been good for you to stay so close. I want you to live your life, Kee." He cupped his brother's face and pressed his forehead against Kili's. "It would make me happy to see you do it...even though it would make me sad."

Kili didn't know what to say. He felt like he had twenty different feelings roiling in his head…and everything was blurry.

Aragorn came up beside them and they moved apart, Fili's hand still on his arm.

"There's a whole world out there, my lord prince," Aragorn smiled. "I think you are free to ride out and meet it." His voice was soft in the night air.

Kili looked up at him, eyes wide. He felt like a lad who'd just been smacked too hard on the battlefield and couldn't quite gather his wits.

Aragorn's hand was on his shoulder. "No one's asking you leave this moment," he murmured in reassurance. "In fact, I think you should be here in Erebor on Durin's Day," Aragorn said. "See what happens."

Fili nodded. "That's a plan we can live with," he said to Kili, his voice husky.

Kili felt too shaken to answer. But he let his brother pull him close again.

"Thank you for your help," Fili whispered to Aragorn.

Beside them, Aragorn smiled and hand on heart, nodded. "Be at peace, strong sons of Durin."

* * *

Just before sunrise, Fili woke to the very loud quork of a raven very near his ear, followed by a thump of a large feathered fellow landing on his brother's chest.

"Raven Prince!"

It was Corax, mincing about, and he wasn't alone. A small flock of a dozen or more had invaded their camp.

Kili was grumbling at the rude awakening, and Fili shooed three off his own blanket. Bard was covering his head.

"All right, I'll get up," Kili said to Corax. "I'll talk…but up to the trees with the rest of you," he commanded, getting to his feet.

Corax apparently wanted news.

"All right. Message for Hen-hen," Kili said, letting Corax jump to his arm. "Tell her I'm fine. No wraiths. Got it?"

"Hen-hen." Corax nibbled the seam on Kili's shoulder. "Hen-hen. Hen-hen."

"Tell her I'm fine. Much love for Hen-hen, no wraiths."

Corax rubbed his beak along Kili's arm.

Kili, looking as though he'd had enough of early morning raven antics, turned to point Corax back to the mountain. "Fly fast, tell her quickly for me."

Corax pointed his beak at the mountain, quorked loudly, and leapt away.

"Take your friends!" Kili called after him. A few of the ravens followed.

But the remainder stayed.

"Up!" Fili said, making a _fly away_ gesture. "Into the trees if you're staying."

Fili noted they leapt to obey.

But despite the early morning raven wake-up, they were in no particular hurry to head back. Skirfir had been restless all night, finally admitting that his spider wounds had been giving him trouble.

Fili realized that accounted for Kili's unsettled night as well, given that spider venom and morgul poison were close to the same thing.

"I think you're right," Aragorn agreed as they sat next to each other on a log, enjoying hot tea in the cool morning air.

"The healers in my father's halls use Burdock tea to cleanse the blood of spider victims," Legolas said.

Fili looked up in surprise. Aragorn also looked very curious.

Legolas shrugged. "Works on elves, anyway."

Fili nodded. "Thanks. I'll bring that up with the healers. Maybe it's good for these lads, too."

"And I'd like to know if it works on men," Bard said. His troops were just as vulnerable to spider attack as Fili's or Thranduil's.

Fili reflected on the relationships of dragon spirits, spider venom, and morgul poison.

And while the three kings sat and shared tea with Legolas and Gimli, the other lads, Kili, Skirfir and Bruilan, shared the work of grooming and saddling the horses and ponies.

"There's no rush on a decision about the Blue Mountains," Aragorn said to Fili. "I understand that your brother needs time." He sat back. "But write and tell me what happens on Durin's Day. Maybe before then, see if he'll take a short trip—out to the Iron Hills perhaps."

Fili nodded. "It's been hard for him to be confined here. I'd like to see him get out. Erebor might be a gilded cage…"

Aragorn understood. "But it's still a cage." They were quiet a moment, then Aragorn frowned. "I think you should also consider that getting him some distance from here—from the site of his wound and his torment—may be just the thing. The Blue Mountains are a good distance away…sometimes that changes things for the better. Even if his fever recurs here, there's a fair chance it would be less there."

"You think distance is a factor?" Fili asked.

Aragorn shrugged. "Weathertop bothered Frodo. Even in the Shire he was too close to it, I think."

Fili thought about that. "I want you to know I am grateful for your help," he said to Aragorn. "Thank you. Erebor is ever at your service."

Aragorn smiled and slapped Fili on the leg. "You do know Gimli wants to settle the Glittering Caves in Rohan?"

Fili nodded. "But he doesn't need my permission to do that…"

Aragorn agreed. "Yet the war was hard on Rohan. They've been left with nothing and trade between your countries to support a colony would do them well." Aragorn tilted his head toward the mountain.

Gimli sat silently, but his bright eyes revealed much.

Fili raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Well, an increase in trade might well require a settlement agreement…say with a fee in exchange for mining rights." He smiled. "And Mahal knows some of this gold should get out and do some good in this world."

Aragorn leaned forward to grasp the hand of Erebor's King.

"You are indeed a singular dwarf, as Gandalf once told me," Aragorn smiled. "_Mukhuh Mahal udnîn zu ra sanzigil umkhûh zu, _my good King of Erebor."

Fili blushed at Aragorn's correct use of the Khuzdul in his honor.

At least he was prepared to return the gesture.

"_No gelin a vellin idh raid gîn_, my good King of Gondor," he said, hand on heart, head bowing just enough to show he meant it.

* * *

Four dwarves rode sturdy mountain ponies up the switchback trail to Erebor's western terrace alone. The men and elf in their group split off for Dale at the foot of the trail, but the dwarves headed for the closer gateway back to their home.

Fili recognized Aragorn had slightly maneuvered him into playing finance officer for his cousin's venture, but he didn't actually care. His brother's life was worth more than all the coins sitting locked up in Erebor's vaults. If it helped their neighbor Rohan, all the better.

Kili and Skirf put their time in the saddle to good use with swordwork lessons: drawing on the hoof along with slashing from the saddle.

Skirfir was determined to learn how to keep hold of his sword, as promised, and Fili was glad to see him improving. So far, he hadn't seen the lad drop his new blade once.

Finally, the end of their journey came into sight and Fili felt immense relief to see they were greeted by a small group of familiar faces as they rode into the broad, open cavern of Erebor's west-facing entry. He spotted his lady wife, his little daughter, and his new sister-in-law among them.

He motioned Kili and Skirfir ahead, figuring his brother had spotted his beloved standing just up the slope by now, and Kili didn't waste time. He dismounted and embraced his new partner in a tight hug, and Nÿr threw her arms around his neck with a look of sheer relief on her face.

At least all was well there, Fili thought. He spotted his own lady wife with their sweet little daughter in her arms, and he wondered at the simple joy of homecoming, especially for his brother after eighty-one years of battle with a dragon.

Loyalty, honor, and a willing heart. His uncle hadn't gotten that quite right.

It also took stamina, fortitude, and the trust of unconditional love.

Even if no one asked.

* * *

**_No gelin a vellin idh raid gîn_** – Gondorian blessing: **May your paths be green and golden**. (Source: realelvish dot net phrasebook. Google it.)

**_Mukhuh Mahal udnîn zu ra sanzigil umkhûh zu_** – Khuzdul blessing: **May Mahal keep you and mithril find you.** (Source: the Dwarrow Scholar's common Khuzdul phrases.)

* * *

**What's next? ** One epilogue, coming soon, between a certain pair of newlyweds who have some unfinished business to resolve…big wink. Story 5 is already in the works, though I'm still undecided about the title. I will post the epilogue with a teaser for the new story at the same time that I post Chapter One, so if you're following this story, you'll be able to hop on over to the next one! Should be some time in the next week...

Thanks again to my writing buddy, **BlueRiverSteel** for all her focus and support. Connections are what make fanfic writers and readers fun to hang out with. And thanks to all of you-!


	24. Chapter 24

**Warning: rated M for mature content in second scene. (Grin.) **

* * *

**Epilogue: Part One**

"They can't describe the problem," Kili said to his brother, launching Corax off his arm. "But almost every raven is worried about the pinnacles."

He heard Fili sigh. "I get the same impression. Whatever it is doesn't show itself in the daytime."

Kili and his royal brother stood on the heights of Ravenhill at sunrise, working with the birds. There was a restless _hurus_ wind rising with the sun, that oddly warm summer wind that swirled around the mountain. It would be a hot, dry day.

They watched Corax fly to the food ledge and land in the middle of the flock, creating a stir.

"I'll send the outpost rangers on night watch," Kili said. "The lads like a good stakeout."

"Yes," Fili agreed. "Good idea."

But in the meantime, they worked with the ravens, both raising arms to call them in, one by one. The brothers stood back to back, greeting and cajoling their feathered allies, sending them out reconnoitering in all directions with instructions to report back at sunset.

Finally, a good hour past noon, Fili called the last raven, one he'd been holding off. The youngster flapped from a railing to Fili's arm, eager to be sent flying, even though he stood awkwardly on one foot.

"I think you need a rest and a checkup, Raal." Fili adroitly tucked the surprised bird (who uttered a shocked _eeep_) under his arm. Kili, seeing what his brother was doing, picked up one of his nephew's portable bird boxes and opened the lid. Fili popped the raven inside and latched the top. Raal would instantly roost in the dark enclosure so they could safely carry him inside.

"The lad's getting quite skilled at looking after ravens," Kili said.

Fili nodded. "It's a good project. If Fjalar can be a caretaker for Erebor's ravens, he'll be a fine caretaker for our people."

Kili grinned. "He's definitely your son," he laughed. "Worried about everyone."

"What about you? Sleeping better?"

Kili glanced at his brother. "Fine."

"Is the burdock tea working?"

Kili made a face. Elves used burdock tea to cleanse spider poison from the blood, and Erebor's healers were giving it a shot. "It's like drinking over-sweet compost."

Fili laughed out loud. "And you prefer your compost un-sweetened?"

Kili wrinkled his nose. "I'd prefer a good heady tankard of ale, thanks. Why can't hops cure spider bites?"

Fili laughed again. "Too simple, that. Come on. I have something for you in my study." Fili slapped him on the back and led the way down the stairs toward the main gate, bird box in one hand.

Erebor's imposing main gate stood firm as ever: battle scarred and dragon-marked as it was. The waterfall that had flooded the gate last spring had dwindled to a thready mid-summer flow. And as they made their way down, a small caravan of traders leading mules passed the checkpoint, getting an early return from a trip to Dale. The people of the mountain were seeking the ever-cool interior for the afternoon.

They felt the temperature difference as soon as they were ten steps into the great hall: the dry heat of the outside sun giving way to the cool caverns of Erebor.

Kili watched as the bird box was handed off to a page with instructions to deliver it to the prince. Then he followed his brother across the imposing hall and down the wide corridor to the King's study.

"Envoys," Fili said. "Arrived last night. Brought me this." Fili unrolled a large parchment and spread it out on the map table. Kili saw that it was a pen and ink drawing, colored beautifully by touches of water paint.

It showed an exquisite multi-level mountain lodge with a grand façade of stone and rich wood. Behind it, a massive granite cliff face rose high, frosted with snow. Overhead, a clear blue winter sky.

"Do you remember this place?" Fili asked.

"_Khelethur_," Kili murmured. "Hall under the Sky, Blue Mountains. I remember being there a few times, but I don't remember living there. I only remember the cadet hall…and then Thorin's quarters." Kili smiled. "Spent enough hours serving as his page to know every inch of it, in fact."

Fili nodded. "We did live here for awhile when you were really little…" He pointed to the fifth floor penthouse. "You were born there, actually—and I even remember the day." Fili grinned at him. "You know you were younger than Gunz when Thorin moved us to the cadet hall? It's no wonder you don't remember living at _Khelethur_, I suppose."

Kili frowned. "Gunz seems far too young for cadet training…"

"I agree," Fili said. "You were certainly too young, I think. Which is why I had a lonely and frightened little brother crawling into my bed every night after lights out. You were a handful to take care of."

Kili looked down and suppressed his embarrassment. "Different times, weren't they?"

Fili's gaze leveled. "And funny how things haven't changed much." Then his smile was back and he rolled up the picture, popping it into a scroll case. "Take this up to Nÿr. I'd be interested to hear what she remembers. She was just there…what, a year ago?"

"You're trying to get us interested…"

"I am trying," Fili said, "To make sure you have a choice, Kili. You and Nÿr will have sons of your own soon. They're more than welcome here as cousins of the future King." He shrugged. "As ravenspeakers they'll have places of high honor." He looked at Kili, sobering. "But you are worthy of a kingship yourself, Kili. You accept this offer and your sons will inherit a land of their own. Your eldest becomes King in his own right, after you."

Kili looked up sharply. "Are you kicking me out?"

"Not at all. But it's a choice you need to make." Fili pushed away from table. "Mahal, I remember when it was marriage proposals the envoys kept bringing. It was hard to keep deflecting those. This…" He handed the scroll case over. "Is a bigger thing, Kili. Even Aragorn wants it."

Kili slowly accepted the scroll case.

"No need to decide anytime soon," Fili said, his voice quiet now. "Everyone expects you to stay close until Durin's Day…and then the weather will keep you here until spring." He slapped Kili's arm. "Until then, this is just a pretty picture."

"What about the envoys?"

Fili shrugged. "Meet with them if you want…but for a lad who just got married, I'm sure you have many better things to do." He raised an eyebrow at Kili.

* * *

Nÿr sat in the quiet coolness of her study, books open, trying to review what three different healers said about treating dislocated joints. She had exams coming up and she wanted to pass.

But she had never felt so scattered. Everything was off: her appetite, her focus (or lack thereof), an unusual awkwardness in her hands…

These were just _symptoms_, damn it. Part of her understood from a clinical perspective that it was just her body announcing itself ready and willing to conceive. The legends of course called it the sign from Mahal himself that he would be sending a child. Of course she'd had the cycle previously, right on time every three and a half years. But it had never felt this strong before. Everyone said it was different when Mahal blessed you with love…that it was his way of preparing the parents-to-be.

Prepared. She snorted. She was overcome with it. Her legs were shaky, her skin hyper-sensitive…she'd plowed through her entire wardrobe looking for the lightest, softest cloth she owned. She was dressed oddly…mismatched pieces. But she didn't care. It was the texture that mattered. If no one liked it, they could just take their eyes and look someplace else.

She grabbed the neck of her camisole and fanned it, hoping to cool the flush that seemed to heat her from the inside out. And she ached almost everywhere. She was acutely aware, for example, of the exact position of her womb, low between her hips…it practically vibrated from an overload of readiness.

When Kili found her weeping over her medical books (she had just re-read one page six times and not been able to focus on any of it), it was all too obvious that he understood what was happening.

"Don't say a word," she warned him. It was embarrassing, this thing that was taking over.

He wisely said nothing and sat three feet away, the corner of the table between them. He had a scroll case, but he set it aside.

The look on his face showed worry, and she wondered if he feared she'd lop off his head if he breathed wrong.

She wouldn't.

At least she didn't think she would. Some part of that notion might be oddly satisfying to her baser dwarfy nature, however.

He rested his arm on the table, hand open to her. There if she wanted it.

All right, she thought. That was nice. She could accept that. Besides, he looked so…

She had an outrageous urge to put her mouth on his gorgeous lower lip.

She reached for his hand, letting her fingertips touch his palm.

He looked at her like there was no one else in the world, and she realized again how devastatingly handsome he was, especially when he was so serious and focused all that Durin family intensity on her. Only her.

His fingers closed lightly around hers. He stood, quietly helping her to her feet.

"Hush," he said, his voice deep.

He led her gently, wordlessly to their room, closed the door, and faced her, hands barely cupping her jaw as he leaned forward.

"Is this what you want, love?" he whispered. "A little one?"

She could only nod. He let her close the space and initiate the kiss.

_Yes. Your baby. Our child._ His bottom lip. She mouthed it, touching it with her tongue.

She fumbled at his shirt, wanting it off but unable to get past his bandolier, unable to think through the process of releasing the buckle…

"I'll do it," he murmured. He kicked off his boots, and while she watched, his eyes never leaving hers, he unbuttoned, unhooked, unbuckled (Mahal, he had a lot of straps and buckles on his gear) and shrugged out of his leathers, then his shirt.

When he pulled his undervest over his head, she couldn't help but put her hands on his skin, his muscles strong and firm to her touch.

More buckles and his trousers were gone.

She was very certain what she wanted then. Knees weak, she sat on the edge of their bed and pulled him toward her, giving him room and loving the feel of his strength overwhelming her. He kissed her deeply, murmured to her, encouraged her.

"That's it, sweetie."

_Yes._ Her mis-matched camisole and skirt were cast aside.

"Just let it happen…"

And when she felt herself completely wrecked for the second time, she oddly wanted more. The intensity increased for a good satisfying while, until they were both thoroughly done. She closed her eyes and gasped his name, and she could hear him whisper hers…and she stayed close in his arms for a long time afterwards. Her love, her husband…her child's father.

They drowsed. She might have actually slept a little. And when they rose, silent and in complete accord, she did acknowledge to herself that she felt better, that her thoughts felt more clear somehow.

_Mahabrûf_, she snorted to herself. Mahal's own sign, with a cure as satisfying as it was certain

* * *

**There will be an Epilogue, Part Two** early next week with the first part of Chapter One for the next story, which will be named Swordbrothers...! So please stay tuned.

If you'd like to see the inspiration for the Hall in the Blue Mountains, scoot over to my Pinterest page (google Summer Alden Pinterest) and you'll see it...its the photo of the Ahwahnee. (Anyone who's accessed the LOTRO site will notice that I'm not using the LOTRO version of the Blue Mountains...sort of creating it on my own.)

**In the meantime, let me know how I did with this bit...! I particularly enjoyed writing striptease!Kili...(maybe that was just me...lol) but please leave a note of feedback when you can! It really is helpful.**

Mahal's blessings...take care all! -Summer


	25. Chapter 25

****Hey, all. **Short final epilogue to Warhammers. Feel free to give me your final review of it…hope you enjoyed!

Immediately following is a tease for the first chapter of the NEXT story, which will split into two storylines: some new territory alternating with the ongoing story back in Erebor. The new story is titled Swordbrothers…and I invite you to mosey on over, take a look, and add it to your list!

**Mahal's blessings…! -Summer****

* * *

**Epilogue 2**

At sunset, Fili, King of Erebor, had his hand-selected troops ready for an attack.

They lined the underbrush just north of the rock formation called the Pinnacles, and they waited for the opportune moment.

With him were a handful of seasoned warriors and sixty first year cadets.

Their parents might not appreciate the danger he was putting them in, but the lads and lasses had to have a first fight at some point in their training.

And this was the best opportunity they would get.

Now they crouched in the darkness, eyes on the great pile of jumbled stone under which a spider nest had hatched.

Mirkwood spiders.

And while they weren't the massive creatures of the adults yet, even a recently hatched Mirkwood spiderling was a challenge. Quick, aggressive, and capable of a stinging bite. And there were easily several hundred still clustered in the remnants of their silky nest.

And they were getting bolder, venturing out at night, soon to disperse. The time to get them was now.

"Each one of you," he'd told the cadets, "Will have to kill six or seven of them if we're going to prevail."

Most of them had stared, eyes bulging.

His son, he recalled, had narrowed his eyes and gripped his new sword as if he relished the fight.

Fjalar, Son of Durin, Heir to the Throne of Erebor, was about to get his chance.

The first spiderlings emerged just after the early moon set in the west.

Dwalin and Kili sent the cadets out in silent groups of four. Stomp, hack, stab. The technique was not as important as the result, and the result had to be _dead_.

The first few forays were simple: two or three spiderlings, four dwarf cadets, and the kills were quick.

But as the night went on, the spiderlings erupted from the nest in bigger packs, then in waves.

At the height of it, Fili worried that he should have brought more regular guard. The cadets were nearly overwhelmed, their war cries turning to shrieks of fear when spiderlings leapt at them.

He watched one of Fjalar's group scream in terror as a spiderling raced up his back, long legs reaching around the lad's neck. Fili almost bolted forward, but stopped himself as Fjalar shouted, "Stay still!" and whacked the spiderling away like he was hitting a ball, then used the momentum to turn for another, slashing its body in half, and finishing with a mighty stomp and flattening a third. The lad he'd saved went after a fourth, swinging his axe in time to lop his prey in two, head to tail.

Fili grinned. _Good lads!_

Predictably, a small crew of goblins showed up for the party. Obviously, someone's idea of nursemaids, left there to ensure the spiders hatched and re-populated the forest.

Kili led the regular guard in defense of their cadets, killing most of them but capturing a couple for questioning.

Fili, they knew, wanted to know who was behind this. The two captives were boxed up for a trip back to Erebor and a visit to the Circle of _Ahyrunu._The Mountain's own power would get the truth out them.

And Fili had no qualms about letting the mountain incinerate them afterwards.

Ten dead goblins and two captives later, a second group of eight goblins arrived on the scene, bigger and more orc-like than their cousins.

The fighting with this group became fierce, and Fili was ready, this time, to join the fray when he saw his brother's sword spin against two goblins twice his size with a third coming at him from behind.

"Kili!" he shouted, knowing he was too far away to help.

And then young Skirfir was there, his sword clanging against a blade aimed at Kili's neck, circling it away as Skirf pulled back and stabbed deep into the goblin's gut and then sliced through. Intestines spilled but the lad didn't stay to watch. He remained at his commander's back and met the next blade, deflecting it with a right swing and lopping off a head when he brought the blade back to the left.

Fili approved.

Two hours later the battle was won. Experts scoured the nest, setting fire to the remnants of silk and burning out the remaining caves to ensure any other egg sacs were destroyed.

His cadets sported their battle wounds with pride—scratches, a few sword wounds gotten from each other (to be expected,) and a dozen or so stings, though Mahal's blessing that none were serious.

One gouged eye that would heal. Bruises and cuts. A few broken fingers.

All in all, a fine night's work.

The cadets formed a semi-circle around the clearing in front of the rocks, most of them getting their first good look at goblins, albeit dead ones.

Fjalar, of course, had killed his first goblin months ago and stood straight and disdainful at them.

It was Dwalin, re-assigned back to his role as Armsmaster, who addressed the gathering.

"New warriors of Erebor!" he roared into the night. "_Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ!_" Flasks of ambershine were passed around, the ritual acknowledgement that a cadet had joined the ranks of the blooded fighters.

Fili grabbed a flask for himself and went to the center of the semicircle.

He raised one sword in his right hand and the flask in his left.

"Skirfir!" he called. "Kili!"

The pair showed up, Kili grinning and Skirfir looking as though he walked to his possible doom.

"There is one more ceremony after battle to recognize bravery in the line of duty. Skirfir of Erebor," Fili made eye contact with the young archer who'd just used his newly-given sword on the field of battle.

"Bow, Skirfir," Fili commanded. "Son of Órgolvur the Smelter."

Skirfir went to his knee before his King.

Fili drew out the moment, letting Skirfir sweat. In a controlled and graceful movement worthy of Thorin Oakenshield, he tapped the lad gently on the shoulder with the flat of his blade. "And rise _Zagarundâd_, swordbrother to my swordbrother."

When Skirfir froze at the shock of this honor, Kili took hold of the lad's elbow and hauled him up. Fili tossed him the flask, and Kili used his teeth to pop the cap and spit it out, then tilted his head back for a great swallow.

Finished, he thrust the flask at Skirfir.

"Make it look fierce," he advised with a wicked grin.

Skirfir tossed it back, surprised at the fiery burn, and turned the pain into the only war cry that he could think of as he held up the flask in tribute. "_Du bekar_, Sons of Durin!"

The cadets raised their weapons and echoed the cry, while Skirfir offered the flask back to his King, and only Fili noted the lad blinking back tears from the aftereffect of the burning liquor.

"Good job," he said levelly. "And thank you for guarding my brother's back."

"At your service, My Lord," Skirfir coughed.

* * *

_Shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ!_ = Hail and well met!

_Zagarundâd _= Swordbrother (somewhat equivalent to knighthood.)

_Du bekar_ = to arms!

* * *

**And now, the teaser for the next story! Please join me for Swordbrothers, story #5!**

* * *

Chapter One

Kili, Son of Durin and Prince of Erebor, was spending his first night away from the Mountain in eighty-one years.

And he couldn't sleep.

It had been uneventful so far, but he seemed to wake every hour, his ears alert to every night creature and rustle of dry leaves in the wind. They were camped in safe territory, he told himself. South of the Long Lake on the edge of the Greenwood on a road well-secured by riders of Dale.

But knowing that didn't help.

He finally rose, tucked the blanket around his Lady Wife's shoulders, and left their tent.

"I'll take the watch," he murmured to Vit, one of the seven guards who'd come along. Vit tipped him an informal salute and nodded.

"Nothing to report," Vit said in a low voice. "Pair of skunks went that way," he pointed. "A few owls out."

"Thanks." Kili settled down with his pipe as Vit stepped away quietly and retired to his bedroll on the other side of the fire pit.

The autumn stars were bright overhead, the moon low in the west and sunrise was maybe an hour off.

Kili listened, sat, and tried to calm his nerves. In all his 150-odd years, he'd never actually travelled south of Esgaroth. Everywhere he looked, things were different and the land was unfamiliar.

Of course it was. He'd spent half his life unable to leave Erebor. But the dragon curse that had kept him there was broken and the threat of being taken by wraiths was gone.

Proven again tonight, in fact. He was miles from any land with Erebor stone beneath, yet there were no dwimmerwraiths in the night. No dragon voice in his head.

No more reasons for Kili, Son of Durin and Prince of Erebor, to fear the outside world and the things dark forces could do to Erebor through him.

Yet eighty-one years of torment left a well of fear deep in his gut that wasn't going to dry up anytime soon. It made him uneasy, even for a short trip.

Which this was. A ten-day jaunt to escort sixty sacks of much-needed gold to a rendezvous point. They would meet up with envoys from Rohan at the headwaters of the Anduin, on the other side of the Greenwood forest, hand over the cargo, and then ride for home.

Nothing to it.

And everything. He was miserable and even the pipeweed tasted off. He finished his smoke and tapped out the bowl.

* * *

****The rest of the first chapter for new story (Swordbrothers) has been posted under the new title—so come on over!****


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